Hidden
by Misthea
Summary: COMPLETE:: In the aftermath of the Willow Incident Sirius Black, facing hostility from his friends, returns to his family home for Christmas. Once there his situation swiftly goes from bad to worse as unpleasant discoveries are made. Rated for violence.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer - All recognisable characters and settings belong to JK Rowling, not me.

Hidden 

Chapter One

_By Misthea_

_  
  
_The first long week of the holiday had passed. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve - yet still he had heard nothing from his friends. Not a single owl, nor a call through the floo. Usually he would have received at least one a day. Usually. Then again, these weren't exactly normal circumstances, were they? He didn't blame them. Of course he didn't! He himself wouldn't particularly want to keep in touch with someone who had acted as he had...  
  
Sirius sighed as he gazed out of his window at the icy world below. It was a beautiful day, with myriad ice crystals glistening in the thin sunlight of the winter morning, but he was unable to experience it, confined as he was, yet again, to the small room at the top of number twelve Grimmauld Place. His room, though that would have been practically impossible to discern merely by looking at it. The walls were bare - so different to James' room, Sirius thought with a pang of sorrow, where the walls were covered in a multitude of Quidditch posters. Nothing like that was allowed for him. The shelves here, unlike James' mass of games and gadgets, or Remus' familiar mountain of well-read books, or even Peter's comics, held merely a scattered assortment of battered textbooks from his earlier years at Hogwarts. Anything in the chamber that might have identified the personality of the boy who inhabited it had long since been wiped away. He had given up wondering what had happened to his mementoes of childhood long ago; all those items carefully retained until he had left for school over four years ago, and missing when he had returned three months later.  
  
The sounds of breakfast drifted faintly up to his ears - the clatter of pots and dishes, the soft murmuring of voices. These were accompanied by the heady scents of bacon and coffee, making his hungry stomach growl in protest. He only prayed that today they'd remember to feed him. Or let him out. Now that would be nice. Unlikely, but nice. It was rare that a punishment such as this lasted less than twenty-four hours and it had been only late afternoon yesterday that he'd angered his mother enough to be 'disciplined'. Unfortunately that had been before dinner had been served. Merlin, he hoped they gave him something to eat...  
  
Laying his forehead against the cold glass of his window, Sirius continued to gaze out at the small square far below. He'd sat like this for hours as a small child. Muggle watching, much to his mother's displeasure. He liked watching the Muggles as they went about their lives. In fact, they fascinated him, with their big, noisy vehicles and bizarre clothing - and their complete ignorance of the magical world on their very doorstep. It wasn't until he'd left for Hogwarts, however, that he'd had the opportunity to indulge his fascination without fear of reprisals. And there he had also discovered others who shared his interest; people who didn't view it as an unhealthy obsession, something too loathsome to ever hold the regard of a member of the Noble And Most Ancient House Of Black. Ha!  
  
Sirius hated his family. He hated everything that they stood for – their mania for the purity of blood, their hatred of Muggles. But most of all he hated their support of the rising madman known to the world as Voldemort. And, much as he disliked the punishments he was so frequently forced to endure whilst in his ancestral home, there was no way he could calmly stand by and listen to them condemn everything in which he believed, not without making a response of some sort. As yesterday had proven. He had managed to ignore their insulting of Dumbledore. He'd even held his tongue whilst they moaned on about 'Mudbloods' being allowed into Hogwarts. Then they started to discuss those well-born families who were 'traitors to their blood', and who they felt Voldemort ought to start targeting next. Families such as the Potters. Needless to say, at that point the careful restraints on his anger had broken.  
  
With a sigh, he rose from his perch on the window ledge, hugging his robes tightly to his body as he shivered in the chill air. Today was probably going to be a very long day, he thought to himself. Almost involuntary he began to pace the length of the room, pausing at the far end to half-heartedly try his door handle. Not that he was at all hopeful that it would be unlocked - hoping that in this house could only ever lead to disappointment. It was locked, and it would almost certainly be staying that way until his mother decided to let him out. Whenever that event might happen.  
  
His eyes fell on the trunk sat at the foot of his bed. The trunk that housed his Hogwarts things. His homework. No, he shook his head, disgusted even by the thought of it. He would have to be incredibly bored to even think about that! Although, having said that, he would probably start it at some point... He sighed as he collapsed onto his bed. Yep, today was going to be an incredibly long day.

He didn't even bother to open his eyes as he heard the door to his room finally swing open. It was early evening now. The sun had sunk well over an hour ago and his room was dark and very cold, and Sirius again lay on his bed. He'd eventually decided that sleep was the best way of ignoring the hunger pangs shooting through his stomach, even if the pervasive chill of the room made that a difficult state to achieve. He'd tried to do his homework. He'd also tried to write a letter to Prongs, Moony and Wormtail. The second of those had been harder, as he'd not only had his complaining stomach to contend with, but also his overwhelming sense of guilt and sorrow. He had lost them. They were his closest friends, and he'd gone and thrown them away through his stupidity!  
  
"Mother says you can come out now," Regulus' sullen voice sounded, quickly followed by his retreating footsteps.  
  
Finally! But for several long moments he continued to lie as he was, unmoving. A heavy weight seemed to sit upon him, holding him in place. Some part of him, he inwardly acknowledged, felt that he deserved every punishment that his parent's threw at him, even though his true crimes... well - they would never view them as such. He felt sick, and the cause of his nausea was not hunger alone.  
  
Breathing a dejected sigh, he pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His head swam at the movement, his stomach churning unpleasantly. Merlin, he needed something to eat! He determinedly rose to his feet and left the room. The eyes of the figures in the many portraits that lined the long stairways followed him disapprovingly as he padded down from the top of the house; a few of them even shook their heads in despairing bewilderment as he passed. He almost smirked. He was a disappointment to whole generations of his Black ancestors, and that was something that his Gryffindor sensibilities could not help but be proud of.  
  
Bloody Slytherins.  
  
The large, gloomy kitchen was empty, thankfully. He really hadn't fancied an encounter with any of his mother's House-elves, and this was the one room where you could almost always find at least one. She'd probably ordered them not to help him. She wouldn't have realised that she was actually doing him a favour. Sirius smiled. There wasn't even a sound from Kreacher's cupboard. He quickly crossed to the pantry and began rummaging for things to eat. Biscuits - they'd do. And a couple of bananas. Mmm, yeah, maybe a sandwich would be good. He pulled out the loaf of bread and, carrying it, along with a knife, to the table, quickly began hacking off slices. A few minutes later he had a large, overflowing creation sitting before him.  
  
He had barely even lifted the sandwich to his mouth, however, when he heard the brisk staccato of his mother's footsteps on the stone staircase outside. He sighed in resignation, gazing at his sandwich longingly. He knew that walk. His mother was on the warpath, and he, as always, was to be the one caught in her way. He quickly took another bite, mentally preparing himself for yet another lecture. He would stay calm. He would not respond to her jibes or insults in any way. He would not...  
  
She slammed in through the doorway, and paused, glaring, as she saw him. Great, he thought, almost rolling his eyes in annoyance as he fixed them resolutely, decisively, on the tiled floor. Here we go again! What was he supposed to have done now? He'd only been out of his room for five minutes!  
  
"What is this?" she snapped, waving a sheaf of papers angrily in the air. Sirius glanced at them, at first with vague curiosity, but then with a growing sense of horror. Oh shit. This had to be the moment he had been dreading. He just knew it! He opened his mouth, desperately trying to think of some response, but she continued without waiting for his reply. "Is it true? Well of course it's true! How could I expect anything else from you?"  
  
Shit! He was right. She'd found out about the Willow incident. It had to be that! He'd known that his Parents had been informed - Dumbledore had told him that they would be - but he had also known that a letter such as that one would have been owled to his father. The Black family insisted that matters be dealt with using, at the very least, the appearance of proper protocol. Disciplinary matters were traditionally the responsibility of the man of the house, so it was his father who received correspondence on such subjects... Fortunately for Sirius, letters to his father regularly sat on the desk in his study for months on end, waiting for him to emerge from his potion brewing long enough to read them. Sirius had planned on stealing it before that day ever came. It was too late for that now. It seemed that his mother's impatient snooping had led her to it rather in advance of him. This was not going to be pleasant.  
  
"I have never felt so ashamed in my life! To learn of such things through the Snapes, of all people," his mother continued. Through the Snapes! Sirius almost heaved a sigh of relief, barely catching himself from doing so in time. That meant that it couldn't be Dumbledore's message... but what had Snivellus being telling his parents now, he wondered? If he'd revealed Remus' secret to anyone at all Sirius would do worse than send him on a little visit, the slimy git!  
  
"A Black, taking part in such disgraceful activities! You're behaviour is appalling! The number of detentions you have received this past year alone is bad enough, but this as well? This is unpardonable! Although, considering the riffraff that you have chosen to befriend, I have to say that it is not at all surprising. Why can you not be more like Regulus? Or Severus. Your father is right. A child like Severus Snape would be so much better than you!"  
  
His mother's voice was steadily rising in volume as she lectured him, causing Sirius to grit his teeth in frustrated annoyance. Get on with it, woman. He was almost desperate now to know what exactly she knew - what it was that he'd done that was so reprehensible. Hah. He was beginning to think that it was nothing to do with the Willow incident after all, merely a catalogue of his usual behaviour at Hogwarts. Probably something to do with those dungbombs in the Slytherin common room... He hoped it was. He would definitely prefer to be lectured over that - that at least he felt no shame in - than over his idiotic behaviour three weeks ago.  
  
Although, it was true, he would rather his parents knew as little as possible of his life away at school, he had long since learned that that was practically impossible. Not only did his suck-up brother attend the same place, but so too did all of the children of his parents' 'social connections' - he wouldn't call them friends, he greatly doubted that they were that. And those children were usually the main targets for the pranks that he and the other Marauder's were so well known for pulling. He had almost grown used to being lectured over one thing they'd learned or another. It didn't make the experience any less unpleasant, but he'd much sooner have that than the treatment they were sure to dole out when they learned that he'd almost gotten Snivellus killed.  
  
"This behaviour has got to stop, Sirius Orion Black! It will not be tolerated any longer. You are a Black, as much as I dislike that fact. And you either uphold the family name, or you will be disinherited, thrown out onto the streets without a sickle to your name!"  
  
Yeah, he was definitely on familiar territory here. She didn't know yet. It had to be the dungbombs. Having decided that he felt himself relax slightly and he began to allow her words to simply flow over him. He knew full well that to respond to her diatribes was to court disaster; the best way for him to avoid doing so was to simply not listen. It usually worked. For a while. Sometimes. Not listening to a woman with a voice as shrill as her's was rather difficult.  
  
"You are a shame on this house!" she shrieked. "A shame on the proud name that we bear! Blood traitor! I can hardly believe that I bore such a creature as you. How did we manage to raise a Gryffindor...?"  
  
That was it. That touched a nerve. Sirius finally raised his eyes to meet his mother's, his distance shattered by her words. His own anger and bitterness suddenly rose, unexpectedly, to the fore. He laughed, harshly - a sound completely lacking in amusement. "Well that Mother is one thing that you can't really take any credit for, is it? You no more raised me than you did James. You left that job - obviously so distasteful from the day I was born - to the house-elves and tutors!"  
  
The swift blow to his face that embodied his mother's reaction wasn't particularly unexpected. He'd received worse, in fact, for far less in the past.  
  
"How dare you? Whilst you reside under this roof you will have respect for your elders!"  
  
He nearly choked at that. Respect for them! Not in this lifetime! He just managed to restrain himself from making that retort out loud, limiting himself to a simple glare. Another slap was his mother's instantaneous response.  
  
"Get out," she snarled. "Get out of my sight. If I see you again today I may not have any control over my actions."  
  
Sirius gritted his teeth against making some remark that would make her change her mind as he walked past her and out of the room. He couldn't stand them, but he wasn't stupid. And he wasn't a masochist. Astonishment was beginning to overwhelm his anger now. He could hardly believe that he'd gotten out of that little encounter so unscathed. Yeah, he had a couple of new bruises to add to his collection, but nothing too serious. And, even better, he noticed, glancing down at his hand, he still had his food! Okay, so it was a little squashed, but did he care? It was still edible. Now all he had to do was find somewhere where he could eat it in peace...

A/N - Er, hiya. This is my first time posting and I'm rather nervous, so please be nice! Oh, and just a little warning - later chapters will get kind of violent, so if you don't like that type of thing, sorry, but I suggest you don't read it.

Bye-de-byes

Misthea


	2. Chapter Two

kurtcobain4eva – My first reviewer! Thank you very much. I hope you like this chapter.  
  
Egwene - Thanks for your review. I feel exactly the same about H/C stories, but I also know that some people aren't so fond of them! Umm... I'm afraid the comfort side of it is quite some way off however.  
  
Disclaimer – not mine.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
The library was deserted, as he had known it would be. After all, it was rare that anyone other than he ever actually wanted to spend time in there. His own liking for the room had always been a little odd really, especially when you considered how the library at Hogwarts had always been one of his least favourite places. He couldn't help but wonder what Remus would say if he knew how Sirius had always been able to relax far easier in this chamber than he could in any other in the house. It was his refuge. His retreat.  
  
He and James would, as much as possible, avoid Hogwarts' library, usually using it only when they were researching something for their latest prank. He almost smiled as he recalled how worried Remus became each and every time they began to take on the appearance of diligent students. It was generally followed by either some major announcement - that they'd discovered his secret, or that they planned to become Animagi in order to help him - or by some insane prank on Snivellus... He caught himself there. He really didn't want to be thinking about Snape and Remus at the same time.  
  
With a sigh he settled himself into a chair in a corner. It was a position that he'd discovered when he was young, well before he'd left for Hogwarts. He'd long since lost count of the number of times he'd curled up there whilst hiding from his boring tutors and their equally boring lessons. It was just perfect for doing so. Light and warm, yet out of sight from the doorway. Of course, it hadn't taken all that long for them to discover it, but that hadn't stopped him from keeping it as his sanctuary as the years passed. This whole room, despite the Dark content of the majority of the books, held a sense of peacefulness that the rest of the house lacked.  
  
The few, half-hearted decorations that adorned the area, however, Sirius noted as he took a large, hungry bite of his sandwich, were no different to those in the rest of the house. It was only in the drawing room - a space that was purely his mother's territory, the room where any entertaining would occur - that even a little enthusiasm had been shown. That was the norm in this place. Christmas here wasn't a time for celebration. If it was to be anything, it had always been a chance for... well, 'social strategizing' he supposed you could call it.  
  
Thankfully, he hadn't been included much in _**that**_ this year... Thinking about it, he probably wouldn't have been the last few Christmases either - not since he'd been sorted into Gryffindor. As he'd stayed in Hogwarts as much as possible since his second year he couldn't really say for certain. Anyway, this year at least, whilst his mother and Regulus attended gatherings with the other pureblood families, he had been left behind in blissful solitude. On the two occasions where he'd actually been ordered to join them, he had, typically, been directed to hold his tongue. The fact that he hadn't managed to do so either time quite possibly explained why he hadn't been required to attend since.  
  
It didn't take him long to devour the sandwich. The biscuits and bananas that he'd earlier slipped inside his robe swiftly followed it. He finally sat back, satisfied that the growling of his stomach had died down enough to let him think straight. It was unfortunate for him, he thought reflectively, that his father so rarely joined the rest of the Blacks in their social visits. The older man seldom left his potions lab, emerging only briefly for meal times, and rarely even to sleep. And that, Sirius thought with a dejected groan, was his main problem at the moment.  
  
He had to get his hands on Dumbledore's letter. That episode with his mother in the kitchen had been far too close for comfort. He really didn't want to go through it again, and next time with her actually knowing about the Willow incident. But Father's lab was connected to his study, and that was where the letter would be. Sirius was not suicidal. Crossing his mother unnecessarily was bad enough, but his father... now that was another thing entirely. The study was out of bounds.  
  
But, he thought darkly, this was not exactly 'unnecessary'. If he didn't get hold of that letter the reactions of both of his parents would be far worse than anything he'd yet seen this holiday. He'd nearly killed the boy his father had always seen as being 'the perfect son'. He'd nearly been expelled! They would not be happy. He had to get that letter, and he had to do it now.  
  
With that decision made, he rose to his feet and left the room. He didn't, however, get very far before being forced to halt.  
  
His father's study was two floors below the library. Sirius had only just set his foot on the first stair when he spied Kreacher scuttling up towards him. The house-elf, unfortunately, spotted him before he could retreat back to his haven. Sirius frowned distastefully as it slowed, gazing up at him malevolently. Kreacher had been with the Blacks as long as Sirius could remember. Several other house-elves had been beheaded, having grown too old to continue serving, but not Kreacher. Soon, hopefully, Sirius thought maliciously. It was already going insane - he would swear to it.  
  
"Master Black." Kreacher bowed low, his snout-like nose brushing the floor. His voice continued in a nasty undertone, "It's the ungrateful brat. What's he doing now?"  
  
Yeah, Sirius decided. The hideous little thing was definitely going insane. He narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?" he demanded.  
  
"Kreacher has to deliver a message from the Mistress, Master Black. To Master Regulus." Unsurprisingly, a second later Sirius clearly heard the muttered, "Not to this nasty swine."  
  
"Well. Go on then. I'm not stopping you."  
  
He watched as the house-elf, with a last, half-hidden glare at him, continued on its scampering, hunchbacked route up the stairs. He closed his eyes for a instant, fighting to steady his nerves, before swiping his damp palms against the fabric of his robes and again starting down. He would do this. He had to do this! A few minutes later he was standing before the study entrance.  
  
For several long moments, however, he simply stared at the door without moving, his eyes fixed on the dark, knotted wood. Clenching his fist to still the faint trembling, he finally raised his hand to knock, telling himself that everything would be fine. He was a Marauder. A little thing like this shouldn't faze him! But... he couldn't help but wish right now that he had James' invisibility cloak. Or, at the very least, his wand – unfortunately that had been confiscated on only his second day home. Trying to hex Regulus with his mother in the next room had not been his most intelligent act. It was typical really, he thought. He was in one of the few houses in Britain where underage magic was unlikely to be detected through the wards, and he'd managed to get his wand confiscated before he'd made even the slightest use of the fact...  
  
Drawing a deep breath, he tapped softly, his excuse ready, there on the tip of his tongue, just in case his father actually happened to be in the outer room. A brief moment passed with no answer and Sirius sighed in relief. Excuse or no excuse, he hadn't fancied actually having an encounter with the older man this evening. With a quick glance up and down the dark hallway, he cracked open the door and slipped into the empty chamber.  
  
He was in. Now all he had to do was find that letter. Preferably before his father decided to emerge... Fighting to keep his eyes from straying over to the doorway on the far side of the room, Sirius quickly crossed to the large oaken desk and began to carefully search through its heaped contents.  
  
There it was. That had to be it. Only Dumbledore would write letters in multicoloured ink. With an unsteady hand, he lifted the pages and cracked open the seal. _Dear Mr. Black, _he read. _It is with heartfelt regret that I find myself writing to inform you of an alarming incident involving your son, Sirius. _Yes. That was it. He didn't need to read any more than that. He quickly slipped the letter inside his robes, and turned to leave the room. As he did so, however, his sleeve brushed against a haphazard stack of scrolls, books and parchments, sending them tumbling to the floor.  
  
"Bugger!" he muttered, casting a fleeting glance towards his father's lab, desperately praying that the noise hadn't been loud enough to draw the man's attention. He knelt, hurriedly gathering up the scattered items, piling them back onto the crowded desk. One scroll had rolled open and, as Sirius hastily began to rewind it, he couldn't help but notice the signature at the bottom. He froze. It was a letter to his Father. From Voldemort.  
  
Almost unwillingly, he began to read.  
  
_Dear Mr. Black,  
Your successes do you proud and I see that I was correct in seeing the importance of your work. Your contributions to our cause will be well rewarded. This new potion sounds most intriguing - a combination of the effects of Veritaserum and Imperio. Just consider the possibilities of such a formula! The others that you have spoken of also bode well. I look forward to seeing some demonstrations. If it is possible I shall call upon you before the New Year and will hopefully be leaving with samples. I assume that you, as with all other loyal purebloods, shall be attending the Malfoys' party on the 23rd. We can discuss certain issues further there.  
Yours sincerely,  
Lord Voldemort_  
  
He was still standing with his eyes fixed blindly on the scroll, the words merely a blur on the page before him, when the sound of heavy footfalls upon the stairs reached his ears. He tensed, his wide eyes shifting speedily to the entrance as his breath caught in his throat. Just keep on going, he silently pleaded. Keep on going, up the stairs. You don't want to stop here...  
  
It seemed that he was out of luck. Rather than continuing up to the next landing the footsteps paused, then crossed the hallway towards the study. Towards him. Sirius span, hastily searching for somewhere, anywhere he could hide, his mind swiftly running through his options. Under the desk? No, in view of the doorway. What about behind the door? Huh, not with the way his mother slammed doors open! Oh shit! Not even in his animagi form would he be able to avoid notice – and there was no way he was about to take the chance of revealing **_that_** little ability to his family. It was useless. Shit. Oh shit. His heart thudded noisily in his chest. With a flash of panic he stared at the scroll in his hand. If they knew that he'd read this... Well, he _**really**_ didn't want to face the consequences! Being caught in here was going to be bad enough. With hurried, erratic movements he thrust it back amongst the others as the footsteps halted outside the room. He'd barely removed his hand when the door swung open behind him.

A/N - Hiya. Hope you all like the new chapter. Please R&R. Ignore that 'be nice' I put on the first chapter - I want to know what people think. Good or bad.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer – not mine

A/N – You're actually getting this chapter a couple of days early. My usual posting day is going to be Sundays (my day off!), but as I'm away on holiday for the next week (With no computer! I don't know how I'm going to survive...) you're getting it today. In case you're wondering, I've got quite a bit of this already written and it's going to be a pretty long fic. Unfortunately I don't write chronologically. I've got at least a page for each chapter, all the most important scenes, and I'm now in the process of linking it all together. Enjoy, and please review. 

Oh, and thank you, kurtcobain4eva, for your review. See, you didn't have to wait _too_ long for an update. Umm, sorry about the cliffhanger, but I'm afraid there's gonna be quite a few of them...

Chapter Three   
  
In the doorway stood his mother; her eyes fixed coldly on him. Sirius shivered. He was in such trouble. For several long moments she said nothing, merely staring at him dispassionately. She didn't look even remotely surprised at finding him there, Sirius realised - which meant that she must have already known of his presence. But how...? The answer to that question became clear barely a moment later. Peering at him from behind his mother's robes was the smug face of Kreacher.

"What are you doing in here?" she snapped. "Your father's study is out of bounds. And you know that as well as I do!"

"I was just looking for a quill," he quickly invented. "I'm doing my homework and my quill seems to have gone missing."

He knew even before the words had crossed his lips that it was pointless. She didn't believe him. Typical. Spinning tales for his mother was even harder than it was for McGonagall. At least, occasionally, his Transfiguration professor believed him. His mother never did. In fact, he had a feeling that she simply disbelieved him out of spite. One of these days he ought to try telling her the truth - she'd probably still call him a liar.

"Really," she sneered. Casting a quick glance at the closed door on the far side of the room she snapped, "Follow me," before turning and marching out of the room. Sirius reluctantly followed her. He knew only too well where things would be heading now.

She didn't even bother taking him as far as her drawing room, instead simply leading him into the finely furnished guest room on the opposite side of the hall. Just far enough away, Sirius thought distastefully, not to disturb Father and his precious potions! As soon as they were both inside the room she turned on him and began on another familiar lecture.

"This defiance, your outright disobedience," she screeched at him, "has become too much! Your behaviour away at Hogwarts is bad enough, but such rule breaking will not be tolerated in this household!"

Sirius kept his head lowered, his eyes trained on the floor. He would not react to her words - things would only grow so much worse if he did. That lesson had been learnt many years ago. If he remained silent she would merely yell and, probably, throw a few curses at him; if he responded... well, the curses would get much nastier, that was for sure.

For the next several minutes he sought to tune out her harsh voice, fought to remain calm in the face of her insults - and he managed it. For a while. Soon however the anger steadily building inside him grew to almost unbearable levels. His fists were clenched so hard he could feel his nails cutting into his palms. He ground his teeth together, desperately trying to stop himself from saying, or doing, something that he'd later regret.

"It's the influence of that Potter boy. You were bad enough before, but since meeting him, since being sorted into Gryffindor, your behaviour has gone downhill. I should never have allowed you to stay in that school, associating with blood-traitors and mud-bloods! Durmstrang – I should have had you transferred to Durmstrang as soon as I heard that you had been sorted into that despicable house."

"You couldn't have kept me there though," Sirius muttered through gritted teeth.

"What did you say?"

"I said," and Sirius finally raised his eyes to meet his mother's, "you couldn't have bloody well kept me there!"

"Is that so?"

"Too right it is."

"I think that the professors at Durmstrang would have knocked a bit of sense into you. They wouldn't have allowed you to get away with the stunts you so frequently pull at that place! They would have taught you to follow rules... And speaking of rules, just **_what_** exactly were you doing in your father's study?"

"Mind your own bloody business!" he snapped.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What are you hiding, Boy?" she snarled. "You've got some filthy little secret locked away in that brain of yours. I can tell." She paused and Sirius stared back at her defiantly. What followed was in no way unexpected.

"_Leglimens!_" she snapped.

The touch of her mind upon his was unpleasantly familiar - dark, choking tendrils that sifted through his thoughts with no attention to notions of privacy. Memories flashed before him as if he lived the moments again. Himself as a tearful five year old enduring the scornful words of Titus Solomon, his expensive, undoubtedly pure-blooded, tutor. At eleven, as the sorting hat shouted its fateful verdict to a shocked school. Twelve, nervously preparing himself to face his friend, Remus...

His reaction was immediate and automatic. The shields that he tossed up were ones that he had been forced to develop through countless similar encounters. He desperately forced her back, out of his head. He would not allow her to invade his mind in such a way! There were too many things that she might learn...

"If I have," he snapped at her, again meeting her glare with one of his own, "you won't be finding it out that way!"

"_Vertigos!_"

The hex passed her lips in quick reprisal. Almost before he even realised it the entire room began to sway - a slow, undulating movement, steadily increasing in speed. He gasped in shock, quickly catching his balance as he staggered a step to one side; his eyes fixed on his mother's cruel face. This was a new one... He should have known that by now she'd have found some new torment to try out on him. The room began to spin. He shook his head, desperately trying to clear his mind as the unpleasant effects began to quickly overwhelm him. But the wand remained, pointed steadily at his body.

He blinked as her image wavered before him, separating and dividing - her malicious smile dominating several blurry faces now instead of just one. He clearly saw the mouth began to move, but the words fell on his ears in an unintelligible mass of syllables. Colours blurred and mingled, jumbling in sickeningly unnatural patterns. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, but, if anything, that simply seemed to make things even worse. He quickly flashed them open, only to find himself swaying dangerously, unable to distinguish which way was up.

For what seemed like an eternity his fought to retain his feet. Eventually, however, no matter how hard he tried, he could remain upright no longer. The room tilted viciously to one side and, almost before he knew it, he was landing on his hands and knees, the indistinct image of her shoes hovering mere inches from his face. He pressed his palms down onto the thick piled carpet, desperately trying to ground himself. But it was futile. His stomach was churning, nausea almost overpowering him, and he fought it off, dragging harsh breaths into his lungs. Just breath, he told himself. Just keep breathing, it would eventually pass. He would not be sick. He would not... Bare seconds later he heaved, and the meagre contents of his stomach adorned the floor.

It was at that moment that she invaded his mind again. In spite of the continuing effects of the vertigo curse, he hurriedly flung up his shields. This time, however, it was no use. Fighting, as he was, to retain any sense of coherency, and with the acid bitterness of vomit filling his mouth, there was no way he could repel her. She evidently found his hasty shields no difficulty to break through. A moment later he was again sneaking into his father's study, desperate to find a letter. A letter that he quickly found and secreted.

He barely even noticed when his mother's hand reached in and withdrew something from within his robe. He registered it, but failed to recognise its importance. It was only when she lowered her wand, stilling the effects of the curse, that he finally broke free from the memory, forcing her from his mind. And it was only then that he regained enough self- possession to make any sort of connection at all.

Shit, he realised - Dumbledore's letter!

He struggled back to his feet, a sense of panic growing in him as he watched her turn the letter curiously between her thin fingers. He barely managed to restrain himself from snatching it out of her hands and making a mad run for it. He'd thought he'd been in trouble before but the unpleasantness of this encounter so far would be nothing compared to her reaction to the news held in that! He clearly saw the narrowing of her eyes as she noticed first the addressee on the outside, swiftly followed by the broken seal. A shiver ran through his veins and he could hardly even bear to watch as she unfolded the parchment and began to read. He simply stood as he was and waited for the shouting to begin, his hands trembling at his sides.

"Is this true?" She finally raised her eyes back to his face. Sirius merely stared at her, unblinking. "I said 'is this true?' What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

"I..." he began, his voice unsteady. He halted and, in a split second, made an impulsive decision – one that he would probably later regret. "Yeah," he told her, lifting his chin, "it's true." He would not cower before her! Besides, he doubted that doing so would actually make _**this**_ encounter any easier for him.

He could clearly mark the moment her barely restrained anger broke free. The skin of her face grew red as her eyes narrowed, her features twisting into an ugly, hate-filled mask. It was almost impossible to tell at that point that she had once been classed as a Beauty.

"How dare you?" she screamed. "What were you thinking? Were you even thinking? I'm not even going to ask how you knew the whereabouts of a werewolf!" Her voice steadily rose in volume. "I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to look into the eyes of any one of the Snapes tonight. You don't even regret it, do you? You disgust me! You nearly caused the death of a dutiful, pure-blooded boy, and you don't even regret it!"

"Actually," he cut in angrily, his voice clashing with hers, "actually Mother, for what it's worth, I do regret it. But never for the same reasons as you! Snape deserved it! I'll say the same thing 'til the day I die."

A single swipe of her wand sent him sprawling back to his hands and knees before her, only barely managing to avoid the puddle of vomit as he landed. Shit, he thought, he really shouldn't have said that. He had no time to think anything else, however, as a malicious curse was uttered.

"_Flagellio_!"

Vicious pain flared as the spell caught his back, lacing strands of fire along his nerves. He twisted away, struggling to get out of its path, but there was no way of escaping it. The effects merely transferred to a different area of his body as his mother kept her wand fixed on him. Searing heat, undimmed by the fabric in its way, straggled in sharp strands over his flesh. His breaths were growing steadily harsher, ragged gasps now that threatened to evolve into pain-filled cries. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. This was a spell that he was unpleasantly familiar with. It had always been one of her favourites. Needless to say, it had never been one of his. Coming, as it did, so soon after that nasty vertigo inducing curse and her mental invasions, its effects seemed even more terrible than usual. The sharp tang of blood filled his mouth as he bit down on his lip, fighting to prevent his cries from escaping.

It halted sooner than he had expected.

"Go to your room! Now!" she snarled at him. "We'll talk more about this later."

He blinked up at her, his hazy mind unable to take in what she was saying. It was over... already?

"As pleasant as this little episode may be, Boy, I have other things to occupy myself with this evening."

He didn't need telling again. A moment later he had clambered to his feet and without daring a backward glance was practically running from the room. Once he reached the stairway, however, he slowed, moving his sore body carefully.

He had gotten off incredibly lightly, he was acutely aware of that fact. For once fortune had actually favoured him, and that didn't happen often in this house. He had to say that he'd never been so grateful for one of their pure-blood parties before. That had to be the reason for the abrupt ending to the 'little episode'. Hadn't she mentioned that she would be meeting with the Snapes tonight...? If she hadn't had to leave to prepare herself for that, he would probably still be held under one curse or another.

He was soon back in the familiar surroundings of his room. With a groan he lowered himself into a seated position on his bed, his hands tightly gripping the covers on either side, his head bowed. He didn't know whether he could stand this any longer. He certainly wasn't looking forward to the promised continuation of the 'talk' with his mother. But there wasn't anything he could really do to avoid it, was there? He had, several times in the past, toyed with the idea of running away, but he'd always before decided that he could handle things, as long as he held his tongue as much as possible.

He wasn't sure that he could do so any more.

James had told him that his parents would welcome him in their house if he ever wanted to get away – not that the other boy knew the true circumstances. As far as James was aware Sirius simply disagreed with his parents' pure-blood views. Now though... Now James hated him. He had nowhere to go, even if he did leave. Except for Hogwarts. He could always just head back to Hogwarts early. Dumbledore wouldn't mind, and he was sure the great headmaster would be able to find some way in which to prevent him from returning to his parents' in the summer. Though he would probably have to tell the elderly wizard the truth about his situation... If he did leave now, there was no way he would ever be able to return.

The thought of returning to Hogwarts early though set a slight wave of anxiety running through him. After all, he did have reasons for being home this Christmas... Since the Willow incident three weeks ago none of his friends had exchanged more than a handful of, usually heated, words with him. He had made the decision then that a couple of weeks with his parents would be better than a Christmas alone in a dorm with a hurt and betrayed werewolf. His view of things had changed a little now, but the thought of seeing Remus again any sooner than he had to still unnerved him.

He also had another reason for returning to Hogwarts early now, however, as well as his hatred of his home-life. His father's potions. Despite his best efforts, the words that he'd earlier read continued to cycle relentlessly through his mind. There was no way he could simply sit back and ignore what his father was doing. He would never be able to live with himself if he did.

He had held his tongue when it came to his parents and their allegiances before now. More times than he cared to admit. He had known for many years that they supported Voldemort – though he had believed their backing to be purely financial in nature. The suspicion that the madman allowed his father the chance to experiment with potions the ministry would never have approved of had, however, occasionally entered his mind. He had always managed to turn a blind eye, pretend that he didn't have any real idea. It was easier that way.

But now...? Now he knew. This surpassed everything else. The uses that these latest concoctions could be put to - their intended purpose! They were vile, and his conscience would allow him to remain inactive no longer.

But what could _**he**_ do about it?

He sighed, brushing his hair back from his face. If he returned to Hogwarts now he could tell Dumbledore immediately. If he waited, it would be too late. From what that letter had said, by the time he was supposed to return to the school Voldemort would probably have his hands on the potions. A letter, he mused. He could write a letter - that would solve that problem. Or he could just report his father to the ministry... But his family had been investigated before now.

The Blacks were very rich. A little money spent in the right places and nothing more would be heard of anything. At least if word came through Dumbledore the matter couldn't be so easily lost. People wouldn't just brush under the carpet things said by the greatest wizard alive, the man who defeated Grindelwald... No, Dumbledore would be the one he'd have to tell, and it would be best if he did so in person.

But - would he actually be able to tell him...? And even if he did, his father would receive enough warning from one of his little paid spies to get rid of both the potions and all evidence that they'd ever existed. All that he would manage through that course of action was to get the potions to Voldemort rather ahead of schedule. His only real chance of stopping those potions from becoming a part of Voldemort's arsenal was for him to destroy them. And there was no way he would ever get the opportunity to do that.

He gingerly lay back on his bed, wincing as his clothing rubbed against the thin burns. At least this time he hadn't been locked in his room – that was one positive thing. It meant that as soon as Mother and Regulus left he would be able to emerge. Then he could find his wand and catch the Knight Bus to Hogsmead. A few hours from now, if all went well, he would be back in Hogwarts. He ought to get himself something else to eat first as well, he thought, his stomach groaning – why did the old hag have to make him throw up? Urrgh. He could still taste it in his throat. And he couldn't even get himself a drink!

Time crept past.

"Regulus! Get down here this instant. We're leaving. Now!"

Sirius almost jumped in surprise as he finally heard his mother's shrieked order, carrying clearly even as far as his room. He rose to his feet, and, quickly cracking open his door, heard Regulus' hurried footsteps clomping down the stairway from the floor below. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of their departure. Several minutes passed, but still his mother's voice could be heard. Come on! If you're going to leave, just get a move on! Finally a second set of footsteps could be heard descending, causing Sirius to frown in confusion.

"Come on!" he heard his mother snap, her voice travelling easily up the many flights of stairs. A second voice sounded a moment later, the words indistinguishable - but there was only one person who it could belong to... A brief second of silence followed before he again heard his mother. "I don't care if you had to check your potions, this is going to be cutting it fine, even for being fashionably late! After what that boy has been doing to the Black family name, we need to show as good an image as we can. Wait until you hear what he's been doing now! You'll be wanting to have a good word with him when we get back."

Her voice stopped. They were gone. His father had actually left the house. Sirius sat, staring at his door in shock. Great, he thought irately, he chooses tonight to emerge! If I'd known that earlier I could have saved myself a whole lot of trouble! But... this opened up a whole new realm of possibilities. Five minutes later Sirius was trotting quickly downstairs.

He'd make up his mind. He knew what he had to do.


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer – still not mine.

A/N - I can quite honestly say that this chapter has been hell. Each time I think I've got it straight I realise that there's a nasty big plot-hole stuck right in the middle of it. Its been driving me up the wall. Anyway, its complete now and (I think), more or less plot-hole free. If you do spot any, please let me know.

Egwene - No, you're right, Sirius isn't escaping all that easily. Um, I'm afraid there isn't much angsting about his friends in this chapter - he's a bit too busy, as you'll see. I did have some in there, for a while, but it didn't really work. There is plenty more coming up in a chapter or two though... Hope you keep enjoying it till then.

Chapter Four 

He would have given almost anything to leave early. As if having to keep company with the Lestrange brothers wasn't bad enough, he could still feel her eyes on him – and it was not a nice sensation! Smiling distractedly at Rodolphus' crude joke, Severus refused to turn and look again in Mrs Black's direction. Something had changed since he last encountered her two nights earlier and it didn't take all that much effort on his part to figure out just what that something was. She now knew about her stupid Gryffindor son's little prank. He would bet a year's worth of potion supplies on it.  
  
The harsh laughter of the Lestranges was beginning to grate on his ears and, resolutely keeping his back to Mrs Black, he excused himself, easing away through the crowds. The large room was packed, filled with witches and wizards of all ages, all with impeccable bloodlines - most of who were almost certainly related in some way. The Malfoys stood near the entranceway, greeting their guests as they arrived.  
  
"Severus, my boy." He almost reached for his wand in shock as a large, heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He span, and found himself looking up into the face of Arcturus Black.  
  
"Mr Black! I did not realise you were here," he said, giving the older man a small, welcoming smile. Suddenly remembering the formal nature of the gathering he bowed his head, the proper greeting for the head of the great house of Black from a lowly offshoot of the Snapes.  
  
"My potions can manage without me for one night. How are your studies going?"  
  
"Well. Thank you sir."  
  
"Good, good. I've heard it said that you are top of the year in Potions...?"  
  
Severus almost flushed with pride. One of the greatest Potion Masters alive was interested in his studies! "Yes sir."  
  
"Very good," Black nodded. "Your family must be proud."  
  
He fought to keep the scowl from his face. His family? Yeah, right. His mother, who spent most of her time drunk, and his father... Why could his own father not see him in the way that Mr. Black did? But no. All he ever got from _**him**_ were insults, no matter how hard he tried to please him. He couldn't remember the last time the man had actually praised his efforts - but he couldn't tell Black that, could he?  
  
"Yes sir," he repeated instead.  
  
"And what's this I hear about an incident involving that worthless son of mine and a werewolf?" Mr Black asked then. This time Severus couldn't hide his grimace. Despite the noise of the crowded room, the older man's soft voice carried clearly to Severus' ears. "I am shocked. It is true, I take it?"  
  
Severus, with remembered fury blazing through his mind, slowly nodded his head. A flash of corresponding emotion flared in the older man's eyes. Thankfully, with this man at least, the anger was not directed at him - and, as far as he cared, Sirius deserved everything that came to him!  
  
"He will be punished for it. You can rest assured of that. So... Do you know the identity of this werewolf? How did the boy know of its presence?"  
  
He was tempted to answer. It would have been so easy to inform Black that Remus Lupin was a werewolf... The information, however, would not stop with him and it would be only a matter of time before Dumbledore found out that he had broken his word. The consequences of such an occurrence he did not wish to face. He did not wish to cross Dumbledore. He couldn't tell.  
  
He could, though, hint...  
  
"I don't really think you need to look far beyond his friends for your answer."  
  
Arcturus Black's eyes narrowed, causing Severus' lips to twist in satisfaction. The more trouble he could cause those Gryffindor gits, the better he would feel.  
  
"His friends...? Interesting."  
  
Severus was about to say more when the tall figure standing behind Black caught his attention. A hush had fallen over the room; all eyes gazed now in their direction. He quickly bowed low, causing the Potion Master to turn in surprise.  
  
"Ah, Lord Voldemort," he said calmly, bowing his head.  
  
"Black."  
  
Severus slowly lifted his head, only to swiftly drop it again as he found the Dark Lord's unnerving eyes fixed on him.  
  
"Well, introduce me to the boy then, Black. One of your sons?"  
  
"Unfortunately not. This is Severus Snape, my Lord." After barely a second's pause he added, "His potions ability is, I do believe, unrivalled by any amongst his peers."  
  
"Really... Interesting. Look at me, Boy."  
  
Almost reluctantly, as he felt his cheeks, already warm from Black's praise, flush even further, Severus lifted his eyes to Voldemort's face. For several long moments he stood, transfixed, unable to tear his gaze away.  
  
"Yes..." Voldemort finally continued, giving a satisfied nod. "Yes, you would be a welcome addition to our cause. Most welcome."  
  
Before Severus could make any sort of reply Voldemort and Black had moved off through the crowds. He stood as he was, staring after them, stunned. He could hardly believe that the little encounter had really just happened! Voldemort had just spoken to him...! The Dark Lord had told him that he would be 'a welcome addition' to the pure-blood cause...!  
  
The party suddenly looked far more promising.

* * *

Where had she put his bloody wand? It had to be in here somewhere! Sirius scowled around at the darkened room - at the heavy, dark fabrics and repetitive snake motif, at that hideous great tapestry filling the far wall. Merlin, he hated this place. In fact, of all the rooms in the house, he had to hate this one the most. This was his mother's room, his mother's territory, and the place where some of his worst memories of childhood were situated. Somewhere in there she had to have hidden his wand. The only question was _**where**_?  
  
He had begun his search at the tall, glass-fronted cabinets, carefully rifling through the contents of each shelf. It wasn't there. Half an hour later and he was beginning to wonder whether, unlike each occasion in the past, maybe it wasn't hidden in the drawing room at all. He'd already looked in all her usual hiding places. He supposed he could maybe search the woman's bedroom - as unpleasant as that thought was - but if he didn't find it in any of the obvious places there... he had no idea where else to try. He would, to put it simply, be well and truly fucked.  
  
Muttering under his breath, Sirius turned to leave, only to halt, a shocked curse on his lips, as he caught sight of a house-elf peering in around the doorframe. His immediate thought was of that ugly sneak Kreacher, but he quickly realised his mistake. This house-elf was a far more welcome sight than his mother's favoured servant ever could be.  
  
"Tibby!"  
  
The small female, caught as she turned to flee, froze. Her gnarled, tea towel clad body was tense, her eyes darting frantically around for a route of escape. Sirius frowned.  
  
"Where have you been, Tibs?" he asked her. "I was starting to get worried..."  
  
And he had. He had many a time wondered about his old nursemaid's whereabouts since arriving back at Grimmauld Place, but there wasn't anyone here who he could have made enquiries with. His main worry had been that she had gone the same way as so many others in the house. His dear old Mum showed an unnatural enjoyment in the whole process of house-elf beheading. The beheading of one whose loyalty had always swayed more towards the 'treacherous Gryffindor son' would, no doubt, please her even more.  
  
"Tibby can't stay, Master Sirius. Mistress will be angry!"  
  
"She's ordered you not to help me, hasn't she?" Sirius ground his teeth together in annoyance. That hideous old hag! "Tibs, do you know where my wand is? Do you know where she hid it?"  
  
The house-elf began to slowly back away down the hall. "Tibby can't talk with Master Sirius. She will need to punish herself..."  
  
He sighed, accepting defeat. He didn't want Tibby to get into trouble with his mother because of him. "Its all right Tibs. I know what she's like. You can go - I can manage on my own."  
  
"Master Sirius is too kind. Far kinder than Mistress..." Her large green eyes, suddenly filled with a determined defiance, fixed on his. "Tibby was in the drawing room when she hid it. She saw."  
  
With that she vanished, leaving Sirius blinking in astonishment. Well that answered that question, he supposed. His wand was somewhere in the drawing room. Unfortunately the question of where still remained. He had already practically torn the room apart looking for it!  
  
After a further half-hour spent rummaging, he finally gave up on the fruitless search. He wasn't going to find it and, more importantly, he had other things to do tonight. At least he now knew not to waste time looking elsewhere. That didn't make things any less annoying though. Without a wand things would take him a lot longer than he'd planned.  
  
Damn his bitch of a mother.  
  
Five minutes later Sirius was standing again before the doorway of his father's study. He was abuzz, running on a high – a mix of anger, fear and excitement running through him. This time he didn't bother knocking, didn't bother thinking up useless excuses. There would be no interruptions. He simply pushed open the door and strode straight in.  
  
Tonight, before his parents returned, he would leave the house and head back to Hogwarts. Prior to that, he was going to destroy his father's potions. Probably the man's notes as well. Yeah, thinking about it, definitely his notes. Not even his father would be able to remember all of the processes he'd followed to gain the potions he desired. The notes would be vital for the recreation of each and every one.  
  
He barely even paused in the outer room, a quick glance at the untidy desk was all that was necessary. Although it was possible that the room contained something of importance, it was not particularly probable. With a few quick steps he crossed to his father's inner sanctum. The workshop, where he created his potions - that was where everything would be.  
  
The room was large. Deceptively large - but then, most of the house was like that. As much as he disliked the fact, this wasn't his first time in the room. He had never before entered voluntarily, but he had been in there. The scurrying rats and dejected-looking gnomes that filled the large cages on the far side of the room were not always good enough as test subjects, and, on those occasions when his mother was unable to think up an appropriate punishment for some misdemeanour...

Suffice it to say that he had many a time been forced to drink some foul concoction, whilst his father sat taking notes on the various effects. He scowled at the unpleasant memories. He probably should have guessed that the pain he was put through, or the loss of control he had sometimes felt, weren't unwanted side effects but the very things the man was trying to heighten.  
  
He supposed... well, he hadn't wanted to know, had he?  
  
Numerous small fires, set beneath steadily bubbling cauldrons, lit the room, setting shadows dancing over the walls. The fire in the grate, however, had burned down to embers. During the daytime sunlight would stream in through the large window – or, at least, it would when the heavy curtains weren't drawn. Even he knew that the effect of daylight upon some potions could be as destructive as an ingredient added too soon.  
  
The disorderly nature of the outer room was deceiving. In here his father's true, methodical character could be plainly seen. The desk here, sitting beneath the window, was tidy - the complete opposite of the other. Beside each cauldron upon the long battered worktable sat a scroll, filled with the older man's sprawling handwriting. More scrolls were neatly stacked on the shelves that ran the length of the room, along with the many large volumes on potion brewing. Everything was carefully organised.  
  
Without the slightest hesitation, Sirius walked along the worktable, gathering scrolls as he went. He dumped the pile beside the fireplace and crossed to the shelves to gather more. A few minutes later he was kneeling, a satisfied grin on his face as, one by one, with only the occasional glance at the contents, he fed the scrolls to the now blazing fire.  
  
Before too long he held only the last few - the most damning, if they fell into the wrong (or did he mean the right?) hands. He stared at them in silence for a moment, frowning slightly as he tried to decide how to proceed. Should he simply destroy everything in the place, and then get out? Leave it at that? His father would have months – maybe even years – worth of work ahead of him. There was, however, another possibility... He could keep a few things as proof of what his father was up to. He could hand his father over to the aurors. Over to the dementors. Voldemort would never get his potions then.  
  
He rubbed at his eyes in confusion. What should he do? Loyalty to the family had been drilled into him his entire life. He had never before been able to breathe even a single word about his home life to anyone. Not even to his friends. But... he'd tried to break away from everything else they'd taught him - why not this as well?  
  
In an instant his decision was made, and he clambered stiffly to his feet, tucking the scrolls into his pocket. Before they knew it he would be back in Hogwarts, and Dumbledore would know about his father's work. All he had to do first was destroy the potions.  
  
Which, he suddenly realised, would probably not actually be not all that simple...  
  
He gazed at the many cauldrons and their various coloured contents with a growing sense of bewilderment. What could he do to them? What would destroy them completely? If only he had his wand! Things would have been so much easier... A handful of simple charms and everything would be gone. But no! Because of his hag of a mother he would have to do it the hard way.  
  
He supposed he could just pour them down the drain, but Merlin only knew what sort of reaction he'd get as they all mingled down there. As much as he hated the place, he really didn't want to bring it down on his head!  
  
He tried to think back on the notes. What had been used in making the things? And what substances reacted badly with those...? He was an idiot! Why hadn't he done this first and then destroyed the bloody notes? Or at the very least have read them through properly first!

Thinking about it, he suddenly realised, he didn't even have the slightest clue as to what the various potions were. For all he knew half of them could be perfectly innocent... potions for the removal of warts, or something equally blameless. Without the notes for reference he had no way of knowing. Which meant that he probably had twice as much work to do than was actually necessary. He groaned. Great! Just bloody typical!  
  
With a grimace he crossed to the large oaken supply cupboard that sat beside the cages, dominating the far corner of the room. As large as it outwardly seemed, the size of the cupboard was, like the room itself, deceptive. Far more items filled the shelves than natural space allowed, with jars of ingredients sitting comfortably in spaces that should have been too small for them. The shelves also stretched much further back than was physically possible.  
  
The lower shelves of the cupboard were filled with numerous ranks of small vials. Very familiar vials. With a frown Sirius lifted one, turning it carefully in his hand so the label was visible. Yeah. Just as he thought. More bloody potions. Urrgh – he'd deal with those later. First he would get rid of the ones in the cauldrons.  
  
He hated potions, but it was times like this that he actually wished he'd paid some attention in his lessons. Much to his father's disgust, it had never been a subject that held his interest. He began to rummage through the supplies, chewing on his lower lip as he read the labels. Venomous tentacular seeds. Powdered spine of lionfish. Snake fangs. Armadillo bile. Shit. Why couldn't James be here? He'd know what to do! Or, even better, why couldn't it have been something to do with transfiguration that he had to do? Now, transfiguration - that he knew.  
  
"Which one?" he murmured. "Arrgh. Which one?"  
  
With a final fatalistic groan, he closed his hand around the first jar his hand landed on. Without even glancing at the label, he removed the stopper and tipped its contents, a fine, chalk-like powder, into the nearest cauldron. Almost immediately the potion began to bubble, making him flinch hurriedly away. A moment later the bubbling halted, and the potion had turned from green into a violent shade of purple. And it now gave off a smell that reminded Sirius unpleasantly of manure.  
  
"Well, that seemed to work," he said, crinkling his nose against the smell as he peered distastefully at his handiwork. "But, just to be on the safe side..."  
  
He reached for another vile and, again without even looking at it, poured its contents into the cauldron. And the cauldron exploded.

A/N - reviews are greatly appreciated... Do I have to beg?


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer – Nope, they're still not mine.  
  
A/N – Umm... don't really think I've actually got anything to say this week. Enjoy!  
  
Egwene – thank you very, VERY much for your review. As it's nearly seven years now since I last wrote anything properly I'm dreadfully out of practice, so constructive criticism is more than welcome. I hope you find this chapter better than the last. I know I prefer it. I must admit that I really hated Chapter Four – so much so that I very nearly didn't post it – but I didn't really know what else to do with it. Your thoughts and comments have been very helpful.  
  
kurtcobain4eva – hope you like the chapter. Er... I did warn you that there would be quite a few cliff-hangers didn't I?  
  
Nicky the Destroyer – thanks for your review. Don't worry, I'm not going to be stopping any time soon, I'm enjoying myself too much for that!  
  
Spanky – E tia hoki! Kö atu wä, ahakoa, Ingarihi anö mauri ora ake ngäwari... You really don't want to know how long it took me to figure out what your email said! Oh, and I hope what I just wrote makes some sense... I've never used Maori before and don't know anything about its grammar.

Chapter Five  
  
Standing, as he was, directly before the cauldron as it exploded, the blast caught Sirius fully, tossing him violently across the room. He gasped, pain flaring as he collided with the wall. His head struck hardest of all and, with shadows clouding his vision, he fought off unconsciousness as his body crumpled into an untidy heap.  
  
He huddled where he had been flung, his arms over his head as bits of warped cauldron descended on him. Even worse was the shower of scalding potion. He could feel the skin of his hands and arms beginning to blister, the bare flesh that protected his face taking the brunt of the drenching. He forced himself to breathe through the pain; reflexively stopping himself from crying out. Shit. Oh shit. It hurt like hell!  
  
A moment later a second cauldron exploded. Sirius' eyes widened in shock and he hurriedly lurched beneath the nearest shelter – his father's desk. There, if nothing else, he was protected slightly from the rain of debris, and was able to observe his handiwork in relative safety. And that at least, if only for a little while, took his mind off the pain of his hands...  
  
It seemed that he had been rather more successful than he'd intended. As the contents of the various cauldrons mingled, a variety of reactions played out before his eyes - extravagant explosions and overflowing, ferocious cascades of bubbles; flashes of light and rapidly disintegrating cauldrons; a haze of multicoloured fumes that caused him to cough violently. It was a whole year's worth of Potions disasters all in one night. It was impressive.  
  
The reactions were not limited to the cauldrons, however. As the contents of the cauldron nearest to them exploded, the massive cages, with a sudden huge crash, toppled. A mass of rats scurried in a hectic migration across the room, finally free as the latch jarred open. Sirius snatched his legs back in shock as one scuttled over his foot, then let out a slightly nervous laugh – of all the things in here to make him jump, he would never have guessed on the rats. Wormtail would have a good laugh at him if he found out... Or he would have, once... The still captive gnomes stared after their former cellmates in dim fascination.  
  
As the large frames fell they caught against the side of the neighbouring store-cupboard. Although itself too heavy to be knocked over by the impact, the cupboard's contents were not so fortunate. Glass jars shattered as they fell. The vials, all filled with small samples of potions, spilt their contents across the shelves, fizzing and bubbling in reaction as they met, and causing yet more vials to fracture and explode.  
  
Cowering still beneath the table, Sirius finally glanced at the label on the small jar that, by some miracle, he still clutched tightly in a scalded hand. Erumpent fluid. Erumpent **_exploding_** fluid. He almost burst out laughing. Even he knew the uses of _**that**_! After all, James had used it in enough pranks... But the reaction it had caused had actually been one he'd been trying to avoid. If he'd wanted a massive explosion he would have just poured the bloody things down the sink! Ah well. At least the house was still standing. He couldn't really say much for the state of the lab, but he hadn't brought the entire house down on his head, which was something.  
  
Finally it died down, calmness returning, and Sirius scrambled warily from his lair. He groaned as his throbbing head swam unpleasantly with the movement, hurriedly catching his balance against the edge of the desk. The fingers that he gingerly touched to the back of his head came away coated with blood. Just typical... The backs of his hands were red raw and blistered. He bit down on his lip, a hiss of pain escaping him as he slowly flexed his fingers. Water. He needed some nice cold water. And he needed it now!  
  
As he crossed to the sink and set his hands to cool beneath the chill liquid, Sirius carefully examined to state of the room – and, more importantly, the state of the potions that had previously filled it. As far as he could tell, they had all, if nothing else, been altered from his father's intended format. He'd need to look at some of the cauldrons more closely, but the majority clearly showed signs of activity of some sort. Many cauldrons lay on their sides, their contents in spreading puddles across the floor; others still had bubbles overflowing the rim.  
  
Even the vials, he thought, peering round into the store cupboard next to him, had, by the look of them, all been destroyed. Now that saved him a job...  
  
Sirius couldn't help the satisfied grin that spread over his face. The potions were beyond repair. Even the majority of the supplies were now useless. And, other than the scrolls tucked safely into his pocket, all of the man's notes were gone. Yeah, he thought with a nod, he had good reason to feel a certain amount of satisfaction! He was done - and it was about time for him to be leaving.  
  
Finally pulling his now numb hands from beneath the tap, Sirius turned towards the exit, absently patting at his pocket to reassure himself that the notes were still there. His thoughts began to drift as he skirted debris, casting cursory glances at each cauldron as he passed. What would the guys think of him for this...? Would they be proud? Or would they still hate him? He shook his head, wincing as the movement set it throbbing. It didn't matter, he told himself. That wasn't why he was doing this. He was doing this because it was _**right**_! Besides, he deserved their hatred... But that didn't stop him from wondering...  
  
He resolutely turned his mind elsewhere.  
  
So, he thought, what next? Hmm. First he'd have another go at locating his wand – at least now he had a general idea of its whereabouts, even if he was running out of time before his mother's return. There was no way he was going to leave without his bloody wand. Then he'd have to repack his trunk - not that there was much to repack... And then he'd get some more food. He definitely needed to get hold of some more food...  
  
It was then that the last potion exploded. Sirius was again knocked from his feet. This time his temple caught on the doorframe as he fell. And consciousness fled.

* * *

"_Ennervate_!"  
  
The jolt of energy that flooded through him caused the darkness to recede. Consciousness returned. Sirius slowly cracked open his eyes, to find his mother standing over him, fury twisting her features.  
  
"What have you done, you stupid boy?" she screeched. The sharp toe of her boot thudded painfully into his side. "Get up!"  
  
Where was he? What had happened? He blinked groggily up at his mother's face and, as her boot connected again, rolled clumsily to his feet. He groaned as he saw the destruction surrounding him. Memory flooded back. Oh shit. This was not good.  
  
"What happened here?"  
  
"It wasn't me," he glibly lied. "I didn't do it. I was heading downstairs when I heard an explosion. I just came in to see what was happening..."  
  
Her sudden blow wasn't even slightly unexpected. Ah well. It had been worth a try. He supposed. He rubbed at his smarting jaw, his eyes narrowing in annoyance as he looked at her.  
  
"None of your lies, Boy! What did you do?"  
  
"What I should have done years ago!"  
  
For one long moment silence reigned. She stared at him in shock, seemingly unable to fully comprehend the vehemence behind his words. Then her fury was back.  
  
"You foul creature," she shrieked. "You disgust me. Does family honour mean nothing to you? Your father has worked for years for this..."  
  
"What?" he barked, glaring at her defiantly as he clambered again to his feet. "You actually thought I'd just stand back and watch while he made potions for Voldemort? Not bloody likely!"  
  
"You ignorant little brat!" she snarled, advancing on him. "You think yourself so clever with all your foul Gryffindor beliefs. You're unable to see the truth before you. The mud-bloods weaken the wizarding world. Blood needs to be kept pure! The muggles are a disease that needs to be cured, and Lord Voldemort is that cure!"  
  
"No. He's the disease! Him and everyone who thinks like you do..."  
  
With a sudden animalistic growl her hands clenched around his throat, her bony fingers squeezing tightly, cutting off his words. Sirius fought to draw breath through her grip, a task made increasingly difficult as panic began to gather. His head swam, his sight growing blurry as he was deprived of necessary oxygen. His own hands scrabbled at her's, desperately trying to wrest her grip away. Fuelled as she was by mad anger, and with him still groggy from his earlier mishaps – not to mention his hands feeling as is they had been set alight – her strength was enough to match his own.  
  
His efforts, however, were not entirely futile. He finally managed to break her grip and drag in a lung-full of air past his now raw throat. With an unsteady step he retreated, blinking rapidly to clear his clouded vision. The blow that struck the side of his head caught him off-balance, and sent him tumbling, again, to the debris-strewn floor.  
  
It was then that the scrolls fell from his pocket. Shit! With quick, almost jerky movements, he sought to return them to his robe, shielding them from his mother's sight. But it was too late. She had seen them.  
  
"_Accio_ scrolls!"  
  
Despite his best attempts to retain his hold upon them, after barely a second or two they were torn from his fingers and flew into his mother's outstretched hand. With a snarl, his movements unplanned, automatic, Sirius leapt for them. She was thrown back a step, surprise on her face, and Sirius was quick to take that moment's advantage. He was bigger than her, was stronger than her... If he could just manage to get hold of her wand... His fingers were on it, ready to wrest it from her grip when her voice sounded again.  
  
"_Blastus_!"  
  
The bright blue light caught him on the chest, sending him crashing yet again to the floor. This time he lay where he landed, too dazed to do otherwise – and then it was too late to do otherwise, as the pointed toe of her boot thudded into his side. It was swiftly followed by a second. Then a third. He rolled away, trying to regain his feet, but her flurry of angry kicks continued, hampering his escape.  
  
He caught his breath on a cry as blow after blow fell upon him, her foot connecting repeatedly with his body. He finally gave up trying to flee as a kick to the back of his knee sent him sprawling and he instead curled himself into a ball on the floor, biting down on his lip as helpless whimpers shook him. This couldn't be real, couldn't be happening. He had been beaten before, more times than he cared to count, but it had never been anything like this! There had never before been so much... so much hatred.  
  
"A filthy, disgusting traitor. Scum! Shame of my flesh... Abomination! That's what you are - a worthless abomination!"  
  
The blows ceased. His mother's harsh voice quieted. The screamed abuse no longer fell upon his ears, replaced now by the sounds of her heavy breathing. For a long moment Sirius almost failed to notice the change, merely thankful for an end to the violence. But the peace was not to last.  
  
"_Crucio_!"  
  
He screamed. He couldn't stop himself from doing so.  
  
Pain clawed through his entire body – thousands of knives stabbing through every inch of flesh, molten lava searing through his every vein. Nothing he had felt before could compare to it. It was pure agony. The injuries that he had already acquired paled now into insignificance, merely setting their own distinct nuances into the excruciating whole that consumed him. Burning needles shot through his hands, tearing up over his wrists and lower arms. His head felt like it was about to explode, throbbing in a steady, torturous rhythm. His every breath, his every cry, seared fire past his bruised throat. He felt again the impact of each of his mother's kicks in the explosions of pain across his torso.  
  
He body convulsed weakly on the rubble-strewn floor, his hands clenched into fists, pressed to his mouth in a desperate attempt to silence his screams. Finally the wand was lowered, but Sirius barely even noticed. He continued to shake as spasms of agony ran along his nerves. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, they began to dissipate, reality returning to him. His cheeks were damp with tears that he hadn't even realised he'd wept. Slowly, so slowly, the world came back into focus and he squinted up at the figure towering over him.  
  
"Get up!" his mother ordered.  
  
With a whimper, driven now past the point of defiance, Sirius sought to push himself upright. But it was no use. His arms gave way almost immediately, to weak to hold his weight. He collapsed back into a heap, his head swimming, and the world asway around him.  
  
"I said 'get up'!" A kick emphasised her words, but Sirius lay as he was, hovering barely this side of consciousness. He was too far gone to care about what might be coming next.  
  
For one long moment there was silence, but it was not to last for long. "Kreacher!" Her screech seemed to echo through him, setting shards of pain shooting through his head.  
  
"Yes Mistress?" The squeaky voice of his mother's favourite house- elf sounded in answer almost immediately. So quickly, a distant part of Sirius' brain pointed out, that the insane little monster must have been watching from outside the door. Such a thought would have usually had him seething. It barely even aroused a flicker of annoyance.  
  
"Get this abomination out of my sight." Her pointed toe nudged at him again, and he groaned, curling his battered body tighter into a ball. "Put him in his room, and make sure he can't get out."  
  
He barely even heard Kreacher's reply as unnatural darkness suddenly surrounded him. The next thing he knew, he was back, lying curled on his bed in his cold, dark room. He closed his eyes, willing his body to stop its helpless shaking. As if from a great distance, he heard his door clicking shut as the house-elf departed.  
  
He was in really, really deep shit.A/N – well, there were some nice owies for poor Sirius, and there's angst coming up in the next chapter, so hopefully people will be happy... Yes? Happy enough to leave me a nice review? Please... 


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer - Do I really have to put this? They're not mine, I just like playing with them.

Egwene - I'm so glad you liked the chapter! 'Perfect' - wow! No one's ever called anything I've written 'perfect' before. Thanks. Yeah, I've wondered about my liking for H/C before now as well. I've finally accepted that I like it and that nothing is going to change that. My friends do all think I'm rather odd though... Most of them refuse to read any of my stories. I've been told more than once that they're scary. I just don't get it... I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

XaveriiJade - thanks for the review. It's nice to know that people are liking it.

Spanky and Pie - I by no means have a firm handle on the Maori language! In fact, I'd never even see it before your review. I do, however, have a fascination for languages, and I was determined to find out what your review said! I'm just glad my reply was actually understandable...

Phinea - as I was saying to Egwene, I've wondered about that liking for torture as well! I'm glad you found mine so good. Hmm, you know, I can't think about that scene now without hearing 'Raindrops keep falling on my head...'. Thanks for your review, and I hope you like this chapter as well.

Happy Reviewer - thanks for the review. Glad you're liking it. Don't worry, I'm not stopping anytime soon.

* * *

Chapter Six  
  
There were some lessons, Sirius mused dejectedly, that he had learnt a little too well. Even though he had rejected the rest of his family's bullshit, there were some things that were just too deeply ingrained. Some directions had been drummed into him from such an early age that they had become second nature.  
  
"_Never show your true feelings, Boy. You are a Black. Blacks are always strong." _Those were his mother's words, spoken so many times. It was rather odd really, when you considered how rarely the woman heeded them herself... His father was the controlled one. His mother regularly showed her feelings – usually anger and disgust, and usually directed at him. It was merely one of her many admonishments concerning his upholding of their 'noble name'. He didn't care about that, hadn't done for quite some time... but he had learnt that there was another side to it, and it was because of _**that**_ that the lesson had stayed with him.  
  
He must never show weakness, not because of the family image, but because a weakness would inevitably be used against him - even by people he should have been able to trust... That had been entirely his own deduction, built from experience. And what were weaknesses? The showing of emotion, of course, as his mother had always said. Any emotion at all. Everything had to be hidden beneath a careful mask, or more sorrow would soon closely follow. If he didn't admit that he cared about something, then that care could never be used against him, could it?  
  
There was more to it than that. To admit that you might not be perfect in every way, that you might not know the answer to a question, that you might have a problem... Each was an admittance of weakness, and each would lead to pain.  
  
Even when he was amongst his friends the mask stayed in place. He was Sirius Black - impulsive, carefree, outgoing. Prankster extraordinaire. He didn't admit that he might ever care about something. He was untouchable. He would never admit to them that he might need their help.  
  
And now...? Now he might need their help. And he'd lost the right to even ask for it, never mind receive it.  
  
He shivered in the cold of his room, wincing as that involuntary movement set pain jangling again through his body. He was in far over his head. A head, he might add, that felt as if it had been trampled by a hippogriff. A hippogriff that had then trampled over the rest of him. He lay back on his bed - gingerly - carefully trying not to place any pressure on either wound on his head. Or any of the hurts on his back, front, arms or legs. After a moment he gave it up as a bad job, and merely lay as he was, his head turned carefully to one side.  
  
He had been a fool. He ought to have just left when he had the chance; gone straight to Dumbledore with the information that he had. Or he should have planned out carefully beforehand how exactly he was to destroy those damn potions. If he had he wouldn't be stuck in this situation now. But he hadn't. He'd just ploughed straight in as he always did, unmindful of the consequences. The only good thing he could see in it was that this time at least, it was only he being caught in the aftermath of his idiocy. None of his friends would be affected by it. Not this time.  
  
It was mid-afternoon now, and daylight was beginning to shift into the shadows of winter dusk. Father had not yet returned to the house. Sirius didn't know whether or not to be grateful for that fact or not. The longer he could put off the confrontation with the man the better, but, as he waited, his fear steadily grew. He couldn't even do anything to take his mind off the imminent encounter!  
  
For a while he had slept, but it had been an uneasy slumber, broken by disturbing dreams. He had then tried to rise from his bed, to actually _**do**_ something - only to be overcome by dizziness, the room spinning madly, sickeningly around him. He'd lain for the next half-hour or so with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, breathing carefully as he fought back the nausea that threatened to make him yet again lose the meagre contents of his stomach. He hadn't yet dared to try anything else, and he lay still on his bed, listening to the distant, indistinct sounds of the house as he strained to keep his mind off his aching body.  
  
That was something that he had had a fair amount of practice at over the years. Physical punishment had been the norm for him in the Black household from the moment he was born - so much so that a day without a blow for some mistake made had been a rarity for many years now. And things had, of course, become much worse once he had been placed amongst the hated Gryffindors, not to mention their reactions when he first began to tentatively express ideas that clashed with their Pure-blood creed. Admittedly, it had never before been as bad as this...  
  
He was finally beginning to drift again into a restless sleep when he heard his door creak open.  
  
"You never do things by halves, do you Sirius."  
  
Sirius slowly, unwillingly, cracked open his eyes to see his brother standing just inside the doorway.  
  
"If you've come to gloat, Regulus, you can piss off now."  
  
"No, I don't think I will. I rather like seeing you like this. All alone and defenceless without your little band of Gryffindor cronies hanging around you."  
  
"I said 'piss off'. Are you deaf as well as stupid?"  
  
"You know," Regulus mused, slowly wandering further into the room, "I could do anything I wanted to you right now and I would be _**praised**_ by Mother and Father. And you wouldn't be able to do a single thing to stop me."  
  
"How much do you want to bet on that?" Sirius pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the protests of his body. He may have felt like shit, but he wasn't going to let Regulus, of all people, lord it over him.  
  
"Oh, quite a bit, I'd say. After all, a single call from me, and I'm sure Mother would be quite happy to come and give you a second helping."  
  
His brother moved closer until he was standing directly in front him - too close, Sirius felt. Before he put any distance between them, the younger boy reached out a hand and lightly brushed against the angry bruising on his forehead. "I could hear you screaming earlier," Regulus whispered, almost conspiratorially. "I wouldn't mind hearing it again."  
  
Sirius batted his brother's hand away. "You never miss a trick, do you?" he snapped. "Just piss off!"  
  
"But it's such a temptation. You'll never believe just how much of a temptation."  
  
"Just because I'm helpless now," he snarled, "does not mean I'll always be so. Just wait 'til we get back to Hogwarts..."  
  
Regulus' grin now was pure satisfaction. "**_If_** you ever get back to Hogwarts. From what I've heard Mother and Father discussing downstairs, well, lets just say, I'm not sure you'll last that long."  
  
"Father! He's back?" Oh shit!  
  
Regulus obviously saw his growing sense of panic, as his grin grew even wider. He took a casual step back, away from Sirius, then another - moving until he leant nonchalantly against the wall near the door.  
  
"Oh yes. He's back all right, and not at all happy. In fact, the word 'furious' doesn't even cover half his reaction to your little exploit." He glanced at the door. "He should be here soon. He was just 'surveying the damage', last I saw." He paused. "I've been thinking that I might just watch. And listen."  
  
"You're sick!"  
  
"Maybe, maybe not. Personally, I find most of your pranks fall under that heading. So that makes you 'sick' as well, **_Brother_**. All I know is that I'm going to enjoy this."  
  
The sudden sound of heavy, angry footsteps on the staircase caused them both to fall silent. A few moments later his father stormed into the room, his features twisted with fury. Sirius wasn't at all surprised to see Regulus slip out before he was noticed. For all his bravado Regulus was not about to get in their father's way when he was in a rage such as this. He didn't blame him. He would have given anything to be able to slip away unnoticed himself.  
  
Without speaking even a single word the older man crossed the room and slammed his fist into Sirius' face, knocking him into a sprawling heap on the ground. He quickly scrambled back to his feet, swaying unsteadily on treacherous legs, his hand lifted to his cheek. His pulse was racing as he backed slowly away. He had a nasty feeling that there was much worse yet to come. The anger on his father's face was more chilling than he had ever seen before.  
  
"You'll pay for what you did!" the older man snarled. "Years worth of work...! I'll make sure you regret it..."  
  
Sirius made no answer, his eyes darting around the room, searching for an escape route. He had to get away... Now! How could he get away?  
  
Gathering the ragged remains of his depleted strength, Sirius leapt forward, taking his father by surprise. His shove knocked the older man off balance, giving him the moment he needed to slip past him towards the door.  
  
"_Immobilus_!"  
  
He felt himself freeze, all control over his body gone. Shit! He struggled, trying to break through the charm, but it was no use. His father's footsteps sounded behind him and, with a sudden jolt, he felt himself spun around. The eerie smile on the man's face was enough to set panic streaming through him.  
  
"Oh no, Boy. You'll not be getting away that easily."  
  
Unlike his mother's mad shriek, his father's deep voice grew soft with anger. The man was controlled, his actions lacking the insane fire that dominated his wife's. That was not to say, however, that they lacked the vehemence - or the towering fury. That was clearly visible in the man's stormy grey eyes.  
  
"Have you any idea what you have done? Years worth of work, all gone, destroyed!"  
  
His father's fist flew towards him again, this time slamming into his chest, landing against the bruises formed earlier by his mother's kicks. He gritted his teeth against the pain, unable to do anything else. He wanted to do something, anything - to fight back, to defend himself. The older man's spell held him firm. He couldn't even move a muscle to speak as his father raged on, unchecked.  
  
"And what's this I hear about you trying to kill Severus Snape?" he demanded, leaning so close their faces almost touched. His hair, lank and greasy from the many hours spent amongst his cauldrons, brushed against Sirius' cheek. Had he been able Sirius would have flinched at the sensation, would have flinched away from the enraged features, but he was not able.  
  
"You were nearly expelled from Hogwarts!" the older man snarled, finally drawing back. "The very thought of it. A Black, not only a Gryffindor, but also expelled from the most prestigious school in the world. And this Black is _**my**_ _**son**_!" Another blow to his face snapped Sirius' head to the side, causing tears of pain to fill his eyes.  
  
"You should try to be more like young Snape. I am envious of his father, having a son with such promise. A son with proper respect! A son with a suitable appreciation for the noble art of potion brewing! But I? I have **_you_**!"  
  
Without even a moment's warning Sirius suddenly found himself tossed harshly against the nearest wall. Pain flared. Before he could reorient himself he was spun sickeningly back around. He hung now, suspended in mid- air as his father growled his insults at him. His entire body still shrieked from his earlier encounters with his mother, and from the after-effects of the explosion, and it protested fiercely against the treatment it was now receiving. His head pounded wildly. He could feel blood trickling down the side of his face from a cut along his hairline, but he was unable to even lift his hand to brush it away. His sight swam; the image of his father continued to blur and shift unnaturally.  
  
"You are a disgrace to this family, to the noble house of Black. Whatever did I do to deserve a child like you? A mudblood loving blood traitor!"  
  
This time he saw the twitch of the wand before he found himself yet again flying across the room into the wall, his body barely missing his book shelves. He gave a silent cry of pain, thankfully denied the indignity of being forced yet again to vocalise his agony, but unable to hold it back as his arm struck the hard surface with a sickening crack. His mind went black. For the space of a few blissful seconds he was free of pain.  
  
But it didn't last.  
  
A moment later everything came rushing back as he felt himself again spun sharply around. He blinked sluggishly; his breathing harsh, as if he had just ran for miles. His cheeks, he realised, were damp with tears. His arm hung limply at his side, howling its distress. His father's words now fell on his ears without meaning, merely an unintelligible noise that added to his sense of complete dislocation.

Barely a second passed this time before he was moving again, pain washing over him with the motion. That was nothing, however, to the jolt of agony as his shoulder struck against the twisted shape of the gas lamp adorning the wall. The metal tore through his flesh. This time when the darkness claimed him it did so for longer.

* * *

The sound of the door closing seemed far louder than was natural. It reverberated through his haze-filled brain, drawing him slowly back towards consciousness.  
  
He was alone again. His father was finally gone.  
  
He had returned to reality a number of times before, only to find himself still being subjected to the older man's violence. But now he had been left, curled on his floor, shaking still as pain raged through every inch of his body. At some point, he realised, the _Immobilus_ charm must have been removed. He could move again. Well, kind of... With a groan, Sirius tried to push himself to his feet, only to collapse back into a heap barely a moment later. His entire body felt like jelly. It hurt even to breathe... Moving was out of the question.  
  
Besides, he thought groggily, the floor seemed pretty comfortable to him... Yeah, definitely... pretty damned comfy...  
  
He drifted back into soothing darkness.

* * *

When next he awoke it was to shivers racking his body, setting pain jangling along his every nerve. He curled up on the hard floor, his knees drawn close to his chest, but that did little to banish the cold. Nor did the thin sunlight filtering in through his window. Bed... He needed to get into his bed...  
  
He groaned, unsteadily pushing himself to his knees, cradling his broken arm to his chest. He couldn't help the small, distressed cry that escaped him as he felt the bones grate painfully together. With a deep, pained breath he clambered to his feet. For a moment he thought that he was going to immediately collapse again. His head swam. His legs shook, threatening to give way. With unsteady, erratic steps he made his way across his room. He barely even considered checking his door, trying to get out. Even if, by some odd twist of fortune, it proved to be unlocked, he greatly doubted he could make it down the stairs, never mind out of the house.  
  
The mattress looked so inviting. So did the covers – even the thought of being warm again was blissful. He clambered carefully into the bed, his body shaking, his legs threatening to give way any moment. Finally lying back, he closed his eyes against the sunlight that was assaulting them. It was several further long moments before his hazy mind realised just what that pale light meant. It was morning again. Which meant that it was Christmas Day...  
  
"Merry Christmas to me," Sirius muttered bitterly. Barely a second later he was again lost to the world.

* * *

A/N - Well? How was it? Please review and let me know.


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer – nope  
  
A/N – Sorry this is late. I couldn't upload it yesterday. Grr. Oh, and I hope this chapter actually makes sense...  
  
Egwene – Thank you. I love getting your reviews. The fact that I know you will actually give a critical response makes the praise so much more enjoyable!  
  
Phinea – I'm really glad you're enjoying it. Don't worry, I'm not stopping anytime soon. I've got well over half of the rest of the thing written.  
  
Leafeater – Thanks for the review. Umm... no one to save him, I'm afraid. No one knows what's happening to him. This is a mess he's going to have to get himself out of...  
  
XaveriiJade – Thanks. It was looking at his character, and wondering what could have made him into the person he is (or was), that initially made me want to write this. I'm glad you find I'm doing it well.

* * *

Chapter Seven  
  
Sirius didn't question the werewolf's presence in his room. He was here! That was all that mattered. His friend was here! He gazed up at Remus through blurry eyes, squinting to make out the other boy's expression. It was with a sinking heart that he realised there was no friendliness in the gaze, no concern on the face. The look that Remus gave him was as devoid of emotion as it had been that last time he had seen him, back in Hogwarts.  
  
"Remus! Remus... please... I'm so sorry... Remus!" But his friend's face remained cold as he turned away. Sirius scrambled upright, ignoring the pain that the movement caused as he pleaded with the other boy. "Please..." His voice trailed away, until it was little more than a whisper of sound. "Please help me... please..."  
  
But the werewolf was gone. He had driven him away. He had lost him, and it was all because of his own stupidity! He flopped back onto his tangled blankets, closing his eyes against the sight of the room swimming around him. Remus hated him now, and he didn't blame him...  
  
He was hot. So hot. His skin felt as if it was on fire. Why was he so hot? This wasn't right... He remembered being cold, his body shivering as he curled on the hard floor. How had he gotten to this?  
  
"Ssh..."  
  
Tender hands moved against his skin, soothing him, stilling his automatic flinch. He hadn't been touched so gently in... in quite some time... Cold water trickled across his forehead and he felt something damp being brushed against his lips. He licked at the moisture, desperate for more as he realised his almost overwhelming thirst.  
  
"Water... I need water..." His voice sounded harsh to his own ears; the words tore against his raw throat. He cracked open his eyes, but the figure that leant over him was a blur. "Remus...?"  
  
"No. Ssh, Master Sirius... Here, drink."  
  
Hands lifted him, propping his body against pillows. He closed his eyes, merely accepting the presence of his unknown helper, his mind unable to focus on who it might be. Cold glass pressed against his lips, and he opened his mouth, reflexively swallowing the cool liquid that was poured down his throat.  
  
He began to drift again. He struggled to hold on to reality, but it was no use. His thoughts all tangled together, forming into an incomprehensible whole as dream and reality blurred. He wandered through his mind, down avenues of memory, unable to tell truth from bewildering fantasy.  
  
James' eyes held an expression of malice that was scarily familiar to him. But James... James had never looked at him like that... James was his friend... Wasn't he? This wasn't right!  
  
What was James doing here?  
  
"Worthless!" his friend spat. "That's what you are – a worthless waste of space!"  
  
No... No, James... This wasn't right at all... James had never spoken to him like that... Those were his mother's words; that was his mother's look. James would never treat him like that! Right...?  
  
"How could you? I just can't believe it! I thought you were a friend. We trusted you!"  
  
No... Oh, no! This was real. This was James and he was right. He had betrayed them. He had betrayed Remus. He was worthless, as his mother had so often said.  
  
"James, please, you've got to listen to me..."  
  
"Just fuck off, Black! Go back to the rest of your worthless family!"  
  
With those words James turned and stormed off down the corridor.  
  
Corridor...? Why was he in a corridor?  
  
Sirius shook his head, fighting back tears. He would not cry! He would not... He slid down the wall until he sat, his head buried on his knees, his broken arm cradled close to his bare chest. His eyes fell closed. Upon opening them again, he found himself in his room in Grimmauld Place. His back was now pressed against the headboard of his bed. His body was still shuddering uncontrollably.  
  
Was this real...? He couldn't tell any more. What was real and what was dream - and then, what was memory and what imagination. This was real... he thought. That had been a dream... right? He suddenly remembered Remus earlier. Had he actually been here? He doubted it. He shook his head. Why could he not tell? What was wrong with him?  
  
Had James ever looked at him like that? Had he spoken those words? Unless his memory was playing tricks on him, the answer was yes, he had. But then... his memory might very well be playing tricks on him... Everything was so disconnected. What was the truth?  
  
Almost unnoticeably he began to drift again. He was in a boat, floating across the lake at Hogwarts with an eleven year old James Potter, who glared at him with hatred plain in his eyes...  
  
But... No, this wasn't right! This definitely wasn't right! He remembered this. He **_had_** shared a boat with James, but it had been before the messy- haired boy had found out that he was one of the hated Blacks. After _**that**_ he had shunned him. For a whole month, even after he had been sorted into Gryffindor, Potter had continued to make his life miserable... Yes, that was the way it had happened. Not like this! They had played a prank on the other occupant of the boat – Peter! Where was Peter? He glanced wildly around him but Wormtail was nowhere to be seen. In fact, nothing else at all was to be seen. No other boats were on the lake, just his. And now James was gone as well. He was alone.  
  
Alone...  
  
He didn't like this. This had to be a dream. He had to wake up! He didn't want to be in this dream... He wanted to wake up!  
  
"Master Sirius? Master Sirius - wake up. Calm down. Ssh. It's just a dream... Wake up."  
  
His eyes flashed open to find a grotesque face staring down at him. With a shocked exclamation he rolled away, only to cry out in pain as the movement jarred his broken arm.  
  
The face withdrew. Gnarled fingers reached towards him, pausing momentarily as he flinched away, but then continuing to brush against the heated skin of his forehead. The movement brought back a dim memory. Water... Someone had given him water...  
  
Words sounded, echoing oddly. It was a squeaky voice that, despite his inability to understand the words, sounded familiar to him. The face again drew in close to his and, squinting up at it, Sirius managed to determine the large eyes and ears, and the snout-like nose, of a house-elf.  
  
"Master Sirius is sick! He needs some help. Tibby will help him. Tibby will look after him."  
  
Tibby! Of course... Finally recognising the familiar kindness of his childhood nursemaid, Sirius relaxed.  
  
"Tibs..."  
  
"Ssh. Master Sirius needs to rest and get better. Tibby saw what they did to him. Tibby will see he gets better."  
  
Sirius gave a small shake of his head, quickly halting the movement and squeezing his eyes shut as pain exploded through his brain. "You'll get in trouble..."  
  
"Maybe, Master Sirius," she replied, but that acknowledgement didn't stop her from continuing her ministrations.  
  
Sirius lay motionless as she bustled around him, his eyes half-lidded and heavy. The house-elf's voice sounded in a constant stream, but his understanding of the words came and went in sporadic fits and starts.  
  
"...and you be filthy, Master Sirius... ...such a nasty man..."  
  
The feel of a damp sponge moving gently over his battered torso caused a hiss of pain to escape him – but the pain was accompanied by the blissful cooling of his heated skin. He closed his eyes fully, distancing himself from the frissons of pain, and allowed the house-elf's words to wash over him, forming a calming cocoon.  
  
He couldn't help but smile at her indignant manner, remembering many similar occasions during his childhood. He had never been in such a state as this before, of course, but she had patched him up so many times... Usually following Titus Solomon's weekly reports to his mother on his educational progress. Those had always made for incredibly unpleasant encounters with the woman, who had never been happy with anything less than perfection from him.  
  
His lessons with Solomon had rarely been pleasant, either. The man had been strict and critical, his mocking remarks painful to his young self. Sirius had usually been more interested in whatever was happening with the kids in the street below than with whatever boring lesson the man was trying to force into his head.  
  
Which had usually resulted in yet more unpleasantry.  
  
"You are a useless boy! You'll never amount to anything if you keep this pathetic behaviour up."  
  
His tutor glared at him, his pale eyes sending shivers through him.  
  
"Give me your hand."  
  
He didn't want to. He really didn't want to. His hands already burnt from... from...  
  
From the potions! **_That_** was why his hands hurt – because of the potions. He had scalded his hands, hadn't he? It wasn't because of Soloman and his cane. He hadn't been faced with that man since he had left for Hogwarts. Thank Merlin.  
  
"Give me your hands, Master Sirius."  
  
That wasn't his tutor's voice. That was Tibby's voice. What was going on? Why did Tibby want his hands? Tibby had never punished him before! Tibby had never...  
  
"Master Sirius... Calm down. Tibby needs to bandage your hands. Ssh."  
  
Bandage him. Oh. Of course...  
  
He forced his eyes back open, his pulse still racing, and fixed his gaze on the house-elf's bowed head. He had, he realised, pulled his hands away. Struggling still against unnecessary reluctance, he returned them to her  
  
"Whatever happened to Master Sirius' hands? What a state they be in!"  
  
"When the potions exploded... They were in the way," he explained.  
  
She glanced up at his face, a slightly shocked expression in her large eyes. She hadn't, he realised, actually expected him to reply to the question. He gave a slightly queasy smile. She returned it with one of her own.  
  
"Go to sleep, Master Sirius," she ordered. "Let Tibby make you all better."  
  
"Don't want to sleep... Dreams..."  
  
"You need to sleep. Tibby won't let the dreams take you. Go to sleep." Her stubby fingers brushed over his forehead and down over his eyes. An odd, tingly sensation washed over him and, with a sense of peace surrounding him for the first time since his return to the house, Sirius slipped involuntarily, uncontrollably back into sleep. This time the uneasy dreams failed to claim him.

* * *

"It's waking up."  
  
His mother's sharp voice echoed unpleasantly in his ears, tearing through the many layers of sleep that covered him. It was joined a moment later by his father's dull rumble.  
  
"I do believe you're right."  
  
"Well? What are you going to do about it?"  
  
"I haven't decided yet."  
  
He didn't want to wake up. In fact, Sirius realised, he really didn't want to wake up. Sleep was good. When he was asleep he didn't have to face his parents.  
  
"You can't just let him leave!" the woman said, her voice far louder than was actually necessary. "He knows far to much! We can't..."  
  
"_**I **_will decide what to do with him, Spica. He's mine. Remember?"  
  
A door slammed.  
  
Sirius finally found himself facing full consciousness. It was with great reluctance that he opened his eyes. His mother, though, had now gone – only his father stood smirking down at him.  
  
An instant jolt of terror shot through him as he met the cold gaze of the older man. He felt his eyes grow wide, his heartbeat quickening. Had he been able he would have fled. But he was not able. He was locked, immobile, beneath the older man's satisfied smile.  
  
"Feeling a little under the weather are you, Son?"  
  
Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but the words escaped him. The man's face began to drift in and out of focus, blurring and changing, shifting in unnatural patterns. With an involuntary groan, Sirius closed his eyes.  
  
"Oh no you don't!"  
  
Hard fingers gripped his shoulders, shaking him roughly, digging into the torn flesh. Sirius cried out and cracked his bleary eyes back open. But his father's gaze was no longer fixed on his face. It was with utmost reluctance that Sirius followed his father's stare, and saw the bandages that adorned his body, visible now that his father's actions had dislodged the concealing blankets.  
  
"What is this?" the older man demanded, his fingers snagging at the fabric binding Sirius' shoulder.  
  
He shook his head, almost frantic. A movement in the doorway, seen out of the corner of his eye, caught his attention, and Sirius couldn't help his quick glance. In the doorway stood Tibby, her small form frozen in shock as she met his eyes. Sirius quickly tore his gaze away, looking back at his father. But he wasn't quick enough. The older man had evidently noted his moment's distraction and he turned now to look in that same direction.  
  
"You!" his father growled. "Elf! This is your doing!"  
  
The grip on his shoulders was released as his father abruptly crossed the room. Sirius' eyes briefly drifted closed as he drew a deep breath, thankful to be out from beneath the older man's alarming scrutiny. He was jerked sharply back to reality as he heard the house-elf give a small cry of fear. His eyes flashed open - to see his father holding a cowering, whimpering Tibby pinned to the wall.  
  
"How dare you, you foul little creature?" the man said, his voice dangerously soft.  
  
"Tibby is only following orders, Master Black..."  
  
"Orders! I know full well that Spica ordered you to stay away from the brat!"  
  
Sirius felt fear course through him, but this time it was not fear for himself but for his loyal nursemaid. He would not let her get hurt because of him. Too many people got hurt because of him! That thought gave him the strength to swing his feet to the floor and push himself up from his bed.  
  
Pain flooded through him at the movement, his entire body howling its discontent, and he fought to stop himself from screaming. His raw throat attested to the fact that he had done that far more often in the past day – or was it two? Or even three? He didn't know – than he liked to admit.  
  
"Tibby has other orders, Master Black!" He could hear Tibby's voice, protesting in a show of bravery that Sirius couldn't help but be impressed by. "Older orders, Master Black."  
  
"Oh? And just what might those orders be?" Sirius knew that voice only too well. Its softness was hideously deceptive. Shuddering, he gazed frantically around the room. There had to be something he could use against the man! But what?  
  
"Tibby was ordered to look after Master Sirius," the house-elf squeaked. "Tibby was ordered to make sure he stayed well... She was given these orders when Master Sirius was just a baby. Those orders have always overridden any others given to Tibby, Master Black!"  
  
For one long moment there was silence from his father. Sirius, forced to catch himself against his trunk as a wave of sickening dizziness washed over him, almost held his breath in fear of the older man's response.  
  
Finally he spoke, and his deep voice held a slow, thoughtful note. "Yes... Yes, they have, haven't they?"  
  
The man moved so quickly that Sirius, weakened and in pain as he was, had no chance of avoiding him. The house-elf was dropped to the floor as he span, catching hold of Sirius' arm in a fierce grip. His broken arm.  
  
So much for not wanting to scream any more.  
  
His legs gave way at the agony that caused shadows to cloud his mind and he fell to his knees, his own pained cry echoing in his ears. The older man smirked down at him.  
  
"New orders, Elf, and this time they **_do_** override your original ones! Look after him, yes. Make sure he survives – but if you _**heal**_ him... I'll be giving you to my dearest wife to deal with." He gave the broken arm a squeeze, and Sirius let out a small, helpless whimper. "I do rather like him like this..."  
  
The words drifted to Sirius' ears as if from a great distance. Far clearer he could hear weeping. Was that him? No, no... It was Tibby. It wasn't him.  
  
He felt himself released, his limp body dropped contemptuously onto the floor. He remained as he was, unmoving but for his body's uncontrollable shuddering. The door banged shut.  
  
"Master Sirius? Master Sirius? Is you alright?"  
  
He drew in a deep breath, allowing his eyes to flicker open. Tibby's tear-stained face seemed to swim in and out of focus before his eyes. Her fingers reached out to touch his face and he gave her a small reassuring smile.  
  
"Been better," he told her. "Help me up?"  
  
It seemed to take forever, although it was probably only a few minutes, before he was back in his bed. Exhaustion dragged at his every fibre, causing shadows to encroach on his uncertain vision. He collapsed onto his tangled, bloodstained blankets with a sigh of heartfelt relief, his mind fixed on a single certainty.  
  
He had to find a way of getting out of here!

* * *

A/N – I really hope that made sense!!! 


	8. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer - No, definitely not mine.  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
Sirius lay in his bed, unmoving. He didn't have the energy to do anything else. With a distinct lack of curiosity his eyes followed the meandering progress of a spider across the dingy, off-white ceiling. He had no idea how long he'd slept for. It could have been hours or, for all he could tell, days. Whichever it was, at some point night must have fallen. Heavy shadows gathered in his room, their oppression lessened only barely by the distant glow of a muggle streetlight.  
  
He was alone in his room.  
  
If not for the slightly bloodstained bandages that covered several large areas of his body, and the small fire that burned in the hearth, he would have wondered whether maybe he had imagined Tibby, as he had imagined Remus and James; would have wondered whether maybe she had been merely another sick hallucination… But the bandages, and the fire, gave a solid testament to her reality. Which meant that his father's brief return visit to his room had also probably been real, and the man's 'new orders' for the house-elf.  
  
Sirius groaned, letting his eyes drift back closed. There wasn't a single area of his body that didn't hurt, not to mention his complete lack of energy - but at least now his mind was clearer. At least now he could start thinking of a way to get out… a way of getting back to Hogwarts…  
  
Back to Hogwarts. Back to a place where everyone hated him.  
  
With a sudden determined surge he pushed himself upright, his bed-sheets falling to his waist at the movement. As hellish as he felt he wasn't going to get far if he couldn't even get out of bed! He immediately regretted this resolve however. His head swam, darkness clouding his vision, and for a moment he thought he was going to collapse right back into a heap as his body shrieked it's protest. Maybe this hadn't actually been the wisest of courses. He shuffled back until his back rested against his pillows, his head lolling back against the wall, and he drew in several deep breaths as he waited for the worst of the pain to recede.  
  
"Ah, Master Sirius is awake!"  
  
He almost leapt in shock as the squeaky voice sounded from the doorway. His eyes flashed open to fix on the house-elf's diminutive form. He smiled a rather shaky greeting.  
  
"Hey Tibs."  
  
The house-elf entered the room, nudging the door closed behind her. Her arms were piled full of rolls of crisp white fabric. "Tibby's got to change your bandages, Master Sirius," she said, dumping her load by his feet  
  
"Um…"  
  
"Just sit back, Master Sirius. Let Tibby get on with it."  
  
He leant back against his pillows as ordered, but peered curiously down now as she carefully began to soak the bandages off his shoulder. Practically every visible inch his of skin was covered in bruises, a mottled covering of purple and green, interspersed with angry red tears. He was fairly clean now, as was his bed - Tibby's doing, he assumed - though a few smudges of dried blood still stained his torso. A moment later he found himself transfixed by the sight of the grisly wound as it was slowly revealed.  
  
No bloody wonder it hurt so fucking much!  
  
From the front it wasn't so bad, a small tear was all that was obvious. It was when he twisted his head slightly that the worst could be seen. The gas lamp, he remembered. That was what had caused this. He'd hit the gas lamp and it had torn right through his shoulder - and back out again - shattering his collarbone on its way. It was beginning to heal now, though blood continued to seep from beneath the scabs, trickling down over the raw, angry skin surrounding it. He lifted his good hand to tentatively touch the jagged wound.  
  
"Move your hand, Master Sirius," Tibby's voice ordered. "Tibby needs to fix that."  
  
Sirius glanced guiltily over at the house-elf as he shifted his hand away from the gash. He had almost forgotten that she was still there.  
  
"Tibs…"  
  
"Ssh, Master Sirius. Let Tibby work."  
  
Her long, knobbly fingers prodded at his torn flesh, causing his breath to escape him in a hiss of pain. She frowned. A moment later he felt a cool sensation flowing through his shoulder, easing away the discomfort. The sides of the gash grew paler, losing their furious red taint, and slowly began to knit themselves together. The bleeding stopped completely.  
  
His eyes fixed on Tibby's face as he caught her hand in his. She had healed him like this before now, more times than he cared to admit to. He knew how easily she could heal every wound on his body. He also knew, however, what would happen to her if she did.  
  
"Thank you," he said, when her large eyes met his, "but don't be getting yourself into trouble for my sake."  
  
"He told me not to let you die, Master Sirius," she said stubbornly. "I'm not going to let that get infected just because he also told me not to heal you! Besides… I haven't healed it completely…"  
  
"Please be careful, Tibs. If he finds out…"  
  
"Tibby doesn't like this, Master Sirius. Tibby doesn't like this at all!"  
  
"I know, Tibs, but… He wouldn't hesitate in carrying through his threat. I'm sure you know that as well as me."  
  
"Yes, Master Sirius. Tibby knows." But she avoided his eyes as she rebound the wound.  
  
Next came his lower arm. He didn't want to think about _**that**_… It was nothing except painful, and, despite that cool, tingling flow of house-elf magic, there was little that she could do to stop it being so. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and forcing his mind to dwell elsewhere as she tied his arm up into a sling. Ointment was then slathered onto bruises and cuts were cleaned with a nastily stinging solution before she moved on to re-bandaging his ribs - several of which, she said, had possibly been broken by his mother's kicks.  
  
It was only when the elf removed the blanket that still covered his legs and he felt the movement of air against bare flesh, that he realised just how little he was actually wearing. He had known of course that his T-shirt had at some point been removed. Now he realised that his jeans too had been, leaving him dressed in only his underwear. He snatched the blanket back up, his cheeks going suddenly hot.  
  
"Don't be silly, Master Sirius! Tibby needs to see to your leg." She continued muttering to herself as she pulled the blanket back down, "It's not as if she hasn't seen it all before."  
  
Sirius' embarrassment was completely forgotten a moment later, however, as the house-elf began to carefully remove another bloodstained bandage, this time stretching down his left thigh. He frowned, gazing in bleary fascination at the long gash that was revealed, curving down from groin to knee. It was deep at the top and gradually became shallower as it neared its end.  
  
He didn't remember getting that one… The one on his shoulder he remembered. But this one… No. No, he didn't remember. It wasn't really surprising, he supposed. After all, he had been barely conscious for the majority of the time. Lack of consciousness on his part hadn't stopped his father, had it? Between that and the shoulder wound he must have lost far too much blood - his complete lack of energy wasn't really all that surprising when he thought about it.  
  
Here again he felt her magic, saw it speeding the healing processes, but he didn't bother protesting. As much as he disliked it, he knew that there was no point. He had learnt many years ago that when she got an idea into her head there was little chance of ever changing her mind.  
  
She was just finishing wrapping the fresh bandage around his leg when her head suddenly lifted, her small form frozen, her large ears turned slightly towards a distant sound. A flash of fear showed in her eyes. It was a look that Sirius knew well. His mother had summoned her.  
  
"You'd better go," he told her.  
  
"Tibby will be back later, Master Sirius."  
  
"I know. Go."  
  
She went, leaving Sirius alone again. He sank back onto his pillows with a pained sigh. He didn't like being alone - it left him with nothing to distract his mind from the unpleasant avenues down which it seemed determined to drift. At least when Tibby was with him he could find something with which to occupy his mind.  
  
But… what if she didn't return? What if his mother had found out that Tibby had been healing him? What if… No! There was no way she could know. He was just being paranoid. Tibs would be back. She would be. He didn't know what he'd do if she didn't. That was something he didn't really want to think about. He sighed, lifting his eyes to the ceiling, automatically searching for the spider he'd been watching earlier. It was gone. It had gotten out of here - and soon he would to.  
  
As desperate as he was, though, to escape from Grimmauld place, the thought of returning to Hogwarts… He couldn't help it. It scared him. No matter which way he turned he was faced with anger. All of his friends hated him now. And he deserved it. There was no doubt about that. If he had actually thought for once in his life, had stopped for a minute before leaping in, they wouldn't feel like that. If only he had thought…  
  
The only good thing to have come out of _**any**_ of his recent actions was that at least he'd managed to stop his father's work with Voldemort - even if it had landed him in a far worse situation than any he had previously encountered. His father's reaction… it was… it was hideous, but he would get away from him soon. With Tibby's help he was sure he would. He just had to. When he did he would tell Dumbledore everything… and, you never know, his friends might think a little better of him for it…  
  
He didn't even want to consider the possibility that he might not get away.  
  
He was doing it again. Thinking about things that he didn't want to be. With a determined growl he rose to his feet, his good hand grasping at a shelf for support, his weight as much as possible on his right leg, and he began to limp stubbornly towards the exit.  
  
It was then that Tibby reappeared in the doorway, a tray, piled high with food, in her hands.  
  
"Master Sirius," she exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock. "Where is you going?" She quickly moved inside the room and placed the tray on his desk.  
  
Sirius halted, leaning heavily against the wall. He wasn't entirely certain how he'd made it as far as he had, but he wasn't going to stop now. "To the bathroom, Tibs," he answered, exasperation he hadn't intended to show clear in his voice. "I need to use the bathroom."  
  
If she noticed his tone she didn't mention it. "Master Sirius… I'm not sure that's…" she said as he doggedly took the last few steps.  
  
He was barely even a pace past the doorframe when a sudden bright light flared around him. Before he even had a chance to react he felt snake-like tendrils of energy twining around him, holding his still. His breath caught in his throat as panic fluttered in his chest, and he began to struggle, but the bonds merely drew tighter. A cry was torn from him as they pressed against his damaged arm.  
  
Hands grabbed tight hold of him, tugging him back. With almost palpable reluctance the bindings released their hold and Sirius toppled backwards, back into his room. He found himself lying in a trembling heap in Tibby's gentle arms.  
  
"…Wise," she finished. "He's spelled the doorway, Master Sirius."  
  
"I…" He halted, fighting to steady his ragged breathing. "So I see."  
  
"Everyone else can get in and out. Tibby can get in and out. Only you, Master Sirius, activate it."  
  
"I should have guessed."  
  
"Tibby should have told you."  
  
"I still need to use the bathroom, you know?"  
  
She helped him back to his feet, supporting more of his weight than was probably good for her as he made his way back to his bed. Then, with a small smile, she produced an old, chipped chamber pot.  
  
"Lovely."  
  
"Tibby won't look," she assured him with a cheeky smile, and turned her back.  
  
When he was done he settled back onto his bed with a weary groan and the house-elf returned to his side. He rested his head back against the wall. How was he supposed to escape if he couldn't even get out of his bloody room? He shook his head, dispersing his thoughts as Tibby placed her tray carefully on his lap.  
  
"Here, Master Sirius, eat," she said. "You need to eat. You need to get your strength up."  
  
For several long moments he merely stared at the food in a muddled daze, before picking up his fork and lifting a small portion to his lips. Despite the fact that it was the first proper food he'd had in days, and Tibby had purposefully brought him items that were neither too heavy nor too rich, he found that he had great difficulty in actually eating any of it. He chewed slowly, swallowing reluctantly. His stomach, which, he felt, should have been clamouring for the sustenance, instead threatened to rebel.  
  
He pushed the food around on his plate - finally forcing himself to take another mouthful when he saw the look of disapproval Tibby was casting his way. After a few mouthfuls it began to get a little easier, but he only managed to clear a fraction of his plate before he ground to halt. Thankfully Tibby decided not to press him and merely cast him a slightly worried glance as she removed the tray.  
  
It was then, as she vanished from the room, that he noticed the parcel set at the foot of his bed, wrapped in a bright paper decorated with numerous small sleighs crossing repeatedly back and forth. It seemed he had actually received a gift this Christmas… If anything that fact only managed to leave him feeling depressed. The presence of the lone gift merely emphasised the lack from… well, from anyone else at all.  
  
It was with a feeling that almost amounted to reluctance that he clambered over and began to open it, but he then smiled as he realised who it was from - Andromeda. One of the few people who didn't hate him. Chocolate frogs, dungbombs and a muggle watch. He had always loved just how well she knew him.  
  
"Tibby's got you something too, Master Sirius."  
  
He looked up from his small pile of gifts to see Tibby standing before him. She shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, her eyes lowered bashfully as she clutched at a small parcel.  
  
"It's not much," she continued, "and I know it's a few days late, but Tibby remembers how you always liked them." And with that she dumped the parcel unceremoniously onto his lap.  
  
It was bound in what appeared to be an old handkerchief and tied with a piece of string. It was an odd, lumpy shape. With a slightly puzzled glance at the hovering figure of the little house-elf, Sirius unfastened the string, allowing the battered cloth to fall open.  
  
"Chocolate brownies! Thanks Tibs. Merlin, I haven't had your brownies in years…"  
  
"Tibby remembered how you always liked them," she repeated, perching herself on the edge of the bed next to him.  
  
For the next several minutes they sat in a companionable silence while Sirius nibbled on the edge of a brownie. The rest he re-wrapped and tucked away for later. It was Tibby who finally broke the silence and she brought up a topic that Sirius was hoping she had failed to notice.  
  
"Master Sirius, why is you home this year? And why have you got no pressies from your friends? Tibby thought you had good friends away at Hoggywarts."  
  
"I… I did." He had, once. Not any more though. He lowered his eyes, struggling to keep his emotionless mask in place. He would not break down!  
  
"You talked in your sleep you know, Master Sirius. When you were sick…"  
  
"Oh…?" He paused as he glanced up at his old nurse. "Um… what did I say?"  
  
"Tibby heard you call out, Master Sirius - to Remus and James. They are your friends, yes?"  
  
"Yeah… Or they were anyway."  
  
Tibby sat beside him, quietly. A soothing presence - and a listening ear. A listening ear that, he suddenly realised, he needed to utilise.  
"I did something really stupid, Tibs. Something really, really stupid." He kept his eyes lowered, fixed on the dark fabric of his bed-spread, but all he could see were Remus' eyes that next morning - eyes filled with weary hurt. "You probably heard _**them**_ shouting at me about it. But things are far worse than they could ever see. Who cares about stupid Snape anyway?"  
  
He paused, trying to decide just how to tell her what had happened. "I have this friend…" he began. "Or, I suppose I should say, I **_had_** this friend. He has a secret - a big dangerous secret that he trusted me with. I told someone. Worse, I told someone who would quite happily use this knowledge to hurt… my friend. And… I didn't think! I wanted to give Snape a scare. He had me so angry… I didn't think that I would be putting, not only his but also Remus' life in danger! I didn't think. I didn't think about anything. What I did was unforgivable and now they all hate me. And I deserve it. I probably deserve all this as well."  
  
The house-elf had remained silent whilst he spoke. Now he finally lifted his eyes, to find her gazing at him with an expression that was far different to that which he had expected to find. He had expected, at the least, disappointment. More likely, to his mind, were disgust, anger or, even, maybe, hatred… But no. She looked at him with compassionate understanding.  
  
He turned his head away. "Don't…" he began, only to be interrupted by Tibby's voice.  
  
"Master Sirius does not deserve this!" she rebuked, a small trace of anger now in her voice. "He must not even think such a thing. Master Sirius was foolish, yes, and he will have to earn his friends forgiveness, but Tibby is sure they will forgive him…"  
  
Sirius shrugged, in no way convinced by her words but not willing to argue the point. "Thanks Tibs," he said, "but… well, we'll see…"  
  
"We will, yes. As soon as we get you back to Hoggywarts."  
  
Back to Hogwarts… Back to his friends… That thought, rather than reassure him, though, merely set a heavy weight to rest in his chest. No matter what Tibby might say on the subject, he had accepted that he deserved every bit of anger that his friends directed at him. James had been right when he'd called him worthless. He was no better than the rest of his family. He didn't deserve their forgiveness and it would take an entire lifetime for him to earn it.  
  
He had lost them.  
  
That look of pure hurt on Remus' face… He could still see it whenever he closed his eyes. It had later been replaced by a cold mask, an emotionless expression, that had made Sirius feel even worse - because he _**had**_ seen that hurt, even if it hadn't been there for long. After the hurt, of course, had also come the anger - anger that Remus, with his hatred of losing control, had refused to express.  
  
That was why he had come home this Christmas, as much as anything. His constant presence in Gryffindor tower had been causing his friend nothing but pain. There was also, of course, the fear that the werewolf's hold on his anger might falter… Getting the odd beating off his parent's, a familiar, if unpleasant, occurrence, had been less of a worry to him then than had been getting in the way of an enraged werewolf. Not because the beating would be any worse, but the emotional aftermath would have been hell. For both of them.  
  
His view had changed now, of course. He would give anything to be away from here. The circumstances were in no way the familiar treatment he was used to from his parents. This was a living, terrifying hell. He didn't think he had ever been so scared in his entire life. He had to get away.  
  
"I had planned to leave before, you know, Tibs," he suddenly told her, remembering his plans for that night as if it was a lifetime ago. Just how many days had it been? He would have to remember to ask. "I hadn't planned on being here when they got home."  
  
The house-elf didn't look even remotely surprised.  
  
"Tibby had thought that might be so," she said, bobbing her large head in an almost comical manner.  
  
"And, as soon as I can, I'm going to be leaving now…"  
  
He caught himself, struck be a sudden distressing thought. His parents' reaction to his escaping would in no way be pleasant, and it didn't take a genius to figure out just who the most likely target for their anger would be. Tibby. It would be his nursemaid who took the fall-out from his actions. He couldn't have that… There was no way he could let that happen! But how could he stop it?  
  
"Come with me, Tibs!" he exclaimed. "When I leave, come with me to Hogwarts. I'm sure you could find a place there…"  
  
"Go with you?" Her eyes widened so much that they looked like they were about to pop out of her head. "But, Master Black, I can't!" she protested. "I'm tied to the House of Black, remember?"  
  
"Then I'll free you. I'm a Black, as much as I may hate that fact! I can grant you your freedom."  
  
"Freedom…" For a brief moment a look of intense longing crossed her face, before being replaced by fear and, he thought, what looked like self-disgust. "No, Master Sirius. A house-elf is not meant to be free. A house-elf is born to serve…"  
  
"But you can serve elsewhere! I'm a Black! You can come and serve me. And be free - not to mention well away from _**them**_!"  
  
"No. No. Don't mention it again, Master Sirius. Tibby does not want to hear it."  
  
"But…"  
  
"No, Master Sirius. Tibby must stay here."  
  
With a defeated sigh Sirius sank back down onto his bed. There was no use arguing with her now, not when she had that stubborn expression in her eyes. He would try again later - after having given the idea a little while to take root…  
  
For several long moments he merely sat, staring, unseeing, at the wall of his room whilst the house-elf bustled around him. It was all well and good talking about escaping - but how exactly was he going to do it? After all, he felt like shit, was trapped in his room, and he didn't even have his wand. In fact, he didn't even have any real idea where his wand even was…  
  
"Tibs…?" he asked slowly. "Tibby? Could you get me my wand? I know you know where it is. If I had my wand I… I'm sure I could get out of here!"  
  
"It's in the drawing room, Master Sirius."  
  
"I know it is Tibs. You told me that on… on that night." He paused before asking, "Tibby, what day is it? How long is it since Father…"  
  
"Three days, Master Sirius. It's the 27th. Nearly the 28th."  
  
"Three days!"  
  
Tibby nodded her head. "Tibby found you on Christmas Day, Master Sirius. Master Sirius… Tibby was so scared when she found you. She was bringing your pressie. There was blood everywhere! Tibby thought you were dead. There was so much blood and you lay so still…"  
  
He wrapped his good arm around the house-elf's trembling shoulders, pulling her into a hug.  
  
"Thank you, Tibs. I think… I think I probably _**would**_ have been dead had you not come…"  
  
She suddenly pulled away, brushing tears out of her eyes. "Tibby will get your wand, Master Sirius. Tibby will not let that nasty man hurt you again!"

* * *

A/N - Well, I hope that chapters all right. Its actually only half of what I had intended to put in this chapter and it's still the longest one yet. This story keeps growing! Please leave me a review. I have to say that I was rather disappointed last week. I had hoped for a few more than three… Please!!!!  
  
Egwene - I love getting your reviews. I really do. I was quite worried that I wasn't getting one for that last chapter… Umm. I think, maybe, I ought to try to explain a bit of what I'm actually trying to do here. I'm probably not doing it well, but I am trying! The story, which will probably be about 15/16 chapters long (it keeps getting longer - it was originally 12) will show a steady decline in Sirius' mental state. The amount of psychological angst will increase accordingly. At the beginning he was trying not to think about any of his problems, which is his way of protecting himself - his mental armour, so to speak. As his situation gets worse (and yes, it will get worse before it gets better) his ability to not think about things will steadily disintegrate, and he'll get more and more depressed. The story will span just over a week and there will another two stories following on straight after. I can't really say any more than that or I might ruin some of the plot… I hope you keep reading and keep letting me know how I'm doing!  
  
Phinea - I'm so glad you like Tibby! I was rather worried about including her. I wasn't sure what her reception would be. I hope you think she's all right in this chapter too.  
  
Allacaya - Thank you for your review. I'm glad you're enjoying it. Oh, and I like to think that you can have more than one wand that suits you perfectly. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer – No, they're not mine – no matter how hard I wish for them...

* * *

Chapter Nine 

Sirius sat on his window ledge, his forehead resting against cold glass as he stared out at the quiet street far below him. It had just started to snow. Soft flakes drifted slowly down, coating the concrete in a thin dusting of white. It looked so peaceful. Serene. Sirius sighed. It was so deceptive. He shivered, the chill air seeping through the thick jumper Tibby had found for him to wear. Today was the 27th of December – twenty-eight full days since he had made the worst mistake of his life. Although hidden by the thick, heavy cloud cover, a full moon shone tonight. Which meant that Remus would be transforming.

This time his friend would be transforming alone. Neither James nor Peter would be back at Hogwarts yet – both had had to go home for Christmas this year. He was the one who should have been there... Merlin, how he wished he could be! Back at Hogwarts. Back with his friends again. Back how things had been before. He knew, though, that things would never again be the same – even if he did get back to Hogwarts...

No, not if – when! He would get back!

Shaking his head in an attempt to disperse his dark thoughts, Sirius tore his gaze away from the pristine scenery, automatically glancing towards the empty doorway. Soon Tibby would be returning. It was over half an hour now since she had left. Soon she would return, bearing his wand, and he would be able to get out. Somehow...

How, exactly, he hadn't quite settled on yet. Firstly he would have to remove the spell that blocked his doorway. Once he had his wand that task shouldn't prove too difficult. His father, although a genius when it came to the creation of potions, had never been particularly skilled in any other area of wizardry. Had it been his mother who had placed the spell it would have been another matter entirely... As it had been his father – no, he should have no difficulty.

Once out of his room he would then have to get out of the house. Hopefully he would have no problems with that either. It was late enough at night now for practically everyone to have retired. Even armed with his wand, as he would be, he really didn't fancy an encounter with any member of his family.

After getting out of the house... well, he was not entirely certain what he would do then. He had two options, as far as he could tell. His first was to find himself a broomstick and to fly away. This idea, however, had two major drawbacks. Getting a broomstick would increase his chances of an encounter with someone, as he would have to raid the broom-shed in the courtyard at the rear of the house. He would also then have to fly the thing. He turned a rueful gaze towards the snow-covered street. In these conditions, not to mention the state that he was in... No. No, he really didn't fancy that idea.

His other option was slightly more appealing. He could catch the Knight Bus. Unfortunately he had no money, which, also unfortunately, he would need to pay his fare. His parents had been refusing him any sort of an allowance since back in his fourth year. All last summer he had worked – to get out of the house and away from them as much as anything else – but what money he had managed to earn had since then been stupidly frittered away on sweets and pranking supplies. He doubted he even had a stray knut hiding in his trunk.

He could always steal some money from his parents. After all, they had plenty – but that again increased his chances of running into one of them. It was possible, of course, that he could, maybe, just this once, get away without paying – or at least, without paying immediately. Surely they wouldn't turn him away. They wouldn't refuse him after seeing the state that he was in. Would they? He shook his head, letting his aching eyes drift closed for a moment. It was a chance he felt he was going to have to take.

He ought to get back in bed, he thought. Tibby would not be happy if she got back to find him sitting in the cold window. He flicked a glance at his new watch, his brow furrowing into a frown as he saw the time. She had been gone over an hour now. What was keeping her? Surely she wouldn't be much longer? No. She wouldn't be, he told himself. She would be back soon. Which meant that he really ought to move.

Unfortunately, he realised, not even moving slightly from his spot, he just didn't seem to have to energy to get himself anywhere... He scowled. How exactly was he supposed to escape? He couldn't even walk across his bloody room? He had to move himself off this damned window ledge! Why had he never realised before just how bloody uncomfortable it was? The sudden surge of annoyance gave him enough determination to push himself upright.

He drew a deep breath as he wobbled unsteadily, quickly lifting his good hand to support himself against the wall. He **_really_** needed to recover some energy, and the best place to do that would be in his nice, soft bed. He limped slowly, painfully over the short distance, finally slumping gratefully down onto his mattress. Merlin, he felt like shit!

His eyes again strayed to his watch. Where was she? An hour and fifteen minutes, now, she had been gone!

Maybe his mother had still been in there, he told himself. Maybe she hadn't yet retired and Tibs hadn't been able to go in and look for it. Or, maybe she had had to do a job for someone else – a house-elf, after-all, had to obey orders. He lay back on his bed, his eyes closing wearily. Yeah. That had to be it. She would be back. As soon as she could be.

He didn't even notice his descent into sleep – his waking thoughts merely shifted into uneasy dreams, claiming him fully. He awoke some time later to a sharp, insistent pain shooting down from his battered shoulder, through to his broken arm. He groaned, creaking open his eyes. He had, he realised, shifted around at some point so that his injured limb was caught uncomfortably beneath his body. He groaned again, gingerly moving into a position that was, even if only slightly, more comfortable. Tibs would not be happy if he'd managed to reopen the shoulder wound...

A sudden thought cut through the grogginess that shrouded his brain. Tibby! Was she back yet? Ignoring the flare of pain that was sent through his body with the movement, he pushed himself upright, twisting around to examine his room. The hope that the house-elf was sat somewhere, waiting for him to awaken, was swiftly dashed. He was still alone.

He looked at his watch. He then blinked, glancing back at the dial to check that he'd read it correctly. He had. It was half-past seven in the morning. Tibby had been gone now for over eight hours!

Why was she not back yet? She should have been back by now... She should have been back hours ago! Oh shit. What if something had happened to her? He bit his lip, his eyes fixing worriedly on his closed door.

No. No... She would come back! She had to come back...

Time continued to tick past. Sirius sat on his bed, his knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes locked on the unchanging wood of his door. All too soon the sounds of the waking house began to drift up to his ears –banging doors and irritable voices. His mother's voice, unsurprisingly, was particularly carrying as she ordered Regulus out of bed. Next came the scents and sounds of breakfast, causing his stomach to groan in complaint. Merlin he was hungry! He really ought to have eaten more of the food that Tibby had provided for him yesterday... Was it just yesterday? The hours since then had seemed to drag into days. Remembering Tibby's gift he pulled out the brownies and began to nibble on them, eating slowly in an attempt to fool his stomach into thinking it was getting more than it was.

It was nearly nine o'clock. Morning sunlight now filled his room. Silence again descended on the house.

She wasn't coming back. Something had happened to her. He knew it. Something had to have happened. She should have been back... And it was his fault. He should never have asked her to get his wand. It had been a stupid request. Such a selfish request...

He couldn't take this any more. He just couldn't stand it – stuck in here with no idea what was going on!

Where was his mother? Where was his father? What were they doing? And just where was Tibby...? Was she even still alive?

No! She had to be. She just had to be. But the niggling doubt at the back of his mind was steadily growing stronger.

Finally footfalls could be heard on his stairs – but they were not Tibby's. He knew those footsteps only too well. Those were his mother's. She slammed in through the doorway, her cold eyes glinting cruelly in the light of the winter morning. He shivered, flinching away as those eyes fixed on his. The look of pure hatred was chilling; the still seething anger was terrifying.

"Good morning," she greeted him, the false note of solicitousness in her voice making him feel sick. He glared. He couldn't stop himself. A slight jolt of fear shot through him at the spark of satisfaction that his response garnered.

An icy, sinking sensation was gathering in his chest as he realised just what her visit most likely meant. She had come to tell him that Tibs was dead. He knew it. The woman had caught the little house-elf as she tried to reclaim his wand and she had killed her. That had to be it! Why else would she be here?

"Well, Boy? Have you nothing to say?"

"I'm sure I have lots," he finally answered, finding his voice, "but I doubt it's anything that you want to hear."

"Undoubtedly true. What could a blood-traitor like you have to say that might interest me?"

With a sneer of distaste, she advanced into his room. Her dark robes billowed around her thin form; her greying dark hair was pulled harshly back from her face.

"Get up," she ordered.

Sirius reluctantly obeyed – the consequences of disobedience were not ones that he wished to face. He stood, swaying unsteadily, as she took in his appearance with a fervid expression. A small, satisfied smile twisted her lips.

In a gesture that, in other circumstances, coming from other people, could have been seen as affectionate, she reached out a hand and cupped his chin. Sirius was held frozen in place as her touch, which began as a gentle caress, swiftly morphed into a harsh grip. Her long, claw-like nails dug into his skin. Her malicious gaze was locked onto his.

"Your father is in his lab," she suddenly informed him. "He is... trying... to restore some sort of order in there." The nails dug deeper, almost breaking the skin, as she moved her face closer to his. He gritted his teeth against the pain. Compared to what he felt elsewhere, it was nothing but an annoyance. "Let me tell you this, Boy. Had I been on the receiving end of your recent behaviour I would not have been as lenient as your father has been!"

Lenient! She called this lenient? He couldn't help his shudder at the thought of what she would have done with him. After all, he had had a taster of it, that first night...

"But it was he who you wronged, and he's claimed you... His prerogative, I suppose."

With an expression of utmost disgust she released him, turning away. Sirius blinked, staring at her retreating back in shock. That was it? She had just come to gloat over him? He felt a sudden surge of hope as the implications of that sank in. She hadn't found Tibby after-all! The house-elf must have just been detained somehow. She was probably just having to work in the kitchen or something. She would be back. Hopefully soon. Getting out would be rather harder in daylight – but he would do it! And he would take Tibby with him, protests or no. He wasn't going to leave her in this hell-hole.

The woman paused in the doorway, turning back towards him as she leant nonchalantly against the doorframe.

"By the way, I thought you might like to know..." she said slowly. Her words were deceptively casual; the avid expression on her face was anything but. "Your little house-elf friend – Tiggy or something, wasn't it?"

"Tibby," Sirius corrected, his voice choked, his heart sinking again. He didn't want to hear her next words. He knew what was coming and he didn't want to hear it.

"Yes. Tibby. That's the one. Well..." Pure satisfaction filled the woman's voice. "Her head now adorns a nice plaque in the hallway."

No. Oh no. Tibs...

"I found the little sneak in my drawing room last night," his mother's voice continued on. "She was looking for this, yes?"

Held casually between her long fingers was his wand. Sirius stared – too shocked to do anything else, his mind locked on one single, shattering thought.

Tibs was dead. She had killed her. Tibs was dead...

Almost lazily his mother turned his wand until it was pointed directly at him. A smirk twisted her lips into a grotesque parody of a smile.

"Crucio," she said.

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A/N – Sorry, I know this chapter is rather shorter, and not much really happens, but it had always been meant to be the end of Chapter 8, not a chapter in its own right... I hope you all find it OK. Please leave me a review. Let me know what you think - positive or negative. Every bit of feedback helps.

Egwene – I actually did a little victory dance when I got your review and I don't think I stopped smiling for the next several hours! Thank you! Umm, yeah, there will be a comfort part. It's still quite a long way off though. I hope you can hold out long enough for me to get to it! I'm kind of glad that at least one person guessed Tibby's fate. I should have known it would be you... And yeah, it's going to be getting worse. Next chapter is going to be rather nasty.

Allacaya – Thank you very much for that wonderfully long review. I love long reviews... This was another one that had me on a high for the rest of the day. Umm – the two-way mirror... I'm afraid he doesn't actually have it with him. There's a brief mention of it in the next chapter. I had intended to mention it earlier, but forgot... Sorry. It comes into the next two stories though. I'm afraid you'll have to wait and see to find out what his parents are planning. Sorry this chapter doesn't really tell you much. If you really want to you can translate it into German – feel free! As long as you still give me credit for it...

Phinea – Unfortunately Sirius never gets a chance to free Tibby. Sorry. I actually found killing her off to be quite hard – rather odd when you consider that I knew she was going to die from the moment I created her. I'm afraid this chapter isn't as long as the last one.

Xaveriijade – Thank you. I'm afraid the soonest I can ever post is Sunday. I'm working hideously long hours at the moment and only get to sit down and properly write a couple of times during the week.

Cicci Green – Thanks for your review. I'm glad you're enjoying it.


	10. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer – Not mine

Chapter Ten 

Sirius cried out, torn from his thoughts as the Unforgivable curse struck him, his eyes widening in shock at the sudden wave of excruciating torment. It was worse this time, if that was possible... Shit. Oh fuck... it was so much worse than last time, magnified, it seemed, by his already weakened state. Blinding agony tore through every fibre of his body - sharp, biting. A million creatures clawing through his insides. The pain from each and every wound that adorned him was suddenly amplified, elevated to a point at which it merged into a torturous whole. He could hear his own screams echoing in his ears, the noise sending shards of ice searing through his brain.

Fortunately it didn't last for long, but even those few, short minutes were enough. Enough to leave him in a heap on the floor, every muscle convulsing in pain. Enough to set the world reeling around him. He hadn't even noticed the point at which his knees had given way. Only when the pain finally subsided did he regain his hold upon physical reality and realise that he was curled, womb-like, on his floor.

He was alone again. His mother was gone, his door closed behind her. He hadn't noticed her leave.

Tibby was dead.

With his one good hand gripped tightly into the covers of his bed he finally managed to drag himself upright and onto the mattress.

She was dead...

No. No! It wasn't true. It just couldn't be true... She was lying! She had to be lying. She was just trying to get to him. It wasn't true...

He buried his face in his pillow, his every breath catching painfully in his throat. Merlin... Oh Merlin. Despite his frantic denials he knew - it was true. She was dead. Gone. She was gone. He bit down on his lip, fighting back against the tears that burned behind his eyes.

He had known – had always known – that someday it would happen. The instant a house-elf grew too old to carry a tea tray... His mother was... She had always showed an unnatural enjoyment in the process. He had always known that it would happen. But not yet. Why did it have to happen now? He had always placed it as an event that would occur in the far distant future. Not yet. He still needed her...

He couldn't take it any more. Curling into a ball on his bed - lacking even the energy, the will, to drag the covers over his chilled body – Sirius wept. He couldn't stop himself. For the first time in over ten years he let the tears flow down over his cheeks. He wept for Tibs – for sweet, loyal Tibs, who should not have died yet. Who would not have died yet, had it not been for him. He wept for himself – trapped...

Why? Why did **_he_** have to suffer through this? Why did he have to be born into a family of dark wizards? Had his actions in some past life been so bad that he suffered now as punishment? Some people believed that such a thing occurred... Or maybe it was the Fates' way of punishing him for the crimes of this life. Maybe this was his punishment for his betrayal of Remus. Maybe he deserved everything he got. Maybe... Maybe there was no maybe in it at all.

Finally his sobs subsided and he lay, staring vacantly up at the dingy ceiling above him. He hurt. Everywhere. He couldn't move; he couldn't breath - he couldn't even think - without random spasms of agony shooting through him. He wanted nothing more than for it all to end... one way or the other. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and leave everything behind him...

He shook his head, jolting himself out of his dark musings. No, he thought vehemently. He would get through this. They would not break him. He'd survived them this long; he would keep on surviving. He **_would_** get through this!

He pushed himself to his feet, struggling to ignore the pain that the movement sent jangling along his nerves. He had to think of a way of getting out of this place. If he had to stay much longer... well, he greatly doubted that he'd be in much of a state to do anything at all. But how could he escape. His options had been limited back when he'd had the possibility of regaining possession of his wand. That possibility was now well and truly dead...

Dead like Tibs...

No! He wouldn't think about that. He had to think positively. He'd never find a way of escaping if he thought about things like that. Struggling to follow his own instructions, he cast his eyes around the sparsely furnished room. But there was nothing. Nothing at all that could help him. He couldn't get through his doorway and his window... Even if he could have opened it more than an inch, he wouldn't have been able to do much other than fall to a rather painful death on the hard pavement below. It was useless. He was trapped in a room with absolutely nothing that could help him get out of it!

No! Positive. He had to think positively! What about his trunk? Was there anything in his trunk?

Lowering himself carefully to his knees before the large chest Sirius lifted the lid and began to rummage through the jumbled contents. There had to be something in there that could help him, **_something _**that he could use! But, despite his hopeful thoughts, he knew deep down that there would not be. And he was right. All he could find were clothes and a few books, and some bits of unfinished homework.

He had never trusted his family enough to bring anything that held any value to him back during the holidays, anything that might now have been of any use. Even over the summer months he refused to risk the chance of any one of**_ them_** getting their hands on anything, and would usually either stash things in Gryffindor tower or give them to his friends to look after. The only thing he would usually bring home was the two-way mirror. He hadn't seen much point in that this time, though – after-all, the only person he could have contacted with it was James...

With a dejected sigh, Sirius swung the lid of the trunk back down. Even if he had brought the mirror home with him he doubted whether it would have been any use. Would James have listened to him long enough for him to ask for help? Would he have even answered his calls? If he had, would he have cared enough to actually help?

Probably not.

There was no real reason why he should have, after all. James had been right, as had his mother. Sirius was a worthless bastard. He was nothing but a traitor. He had betrayed their friendship. He had proved that he was no different to the rest of his family. He didn't deserve an ounce of care from any one of them. He didn't deserve an ounce of care from anyone at all. The only one who **_had_** cared about him was now dead. She was dead because of him...

With a sigh of defeat, and with exhaustion – both physical and mental, dragging at him, he finally climbed back into his bed. His hopes were a barren waste of time and energy. There was no point in continuing his search. There was nothing in the room, nothing at all, which could help him. He had to just accept that fact. He lay back, a heavy weight seeming to rest on his chest. Time ticked slowly past.

For a while he must have drifted into sleep, for the next thing he knew the sky was beginning to grow dark again. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was nearing four o'clock. Snow was again falling. Merlin, he was hungry. Sirius lay unmoving for several long moments, his eyes fixed blankly on the window, before his brain finally processed the noise that had awoken him. Footsteps, growing steadily louder. Someone was coming up his stairs.

He scrambled quickly upright - abruptly, piercingly, wide-awake. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he stared, wide-eyed at the doorway, his good hand clenching tightly at his blankets. Oh shit. Oh no. Just go away. Please just go away...

With a disconcerting smile adorning his face, his father entered the room.

For a brief second Sirius let his eyes drift shut, a sense of despair washing over him. What now? What did he want now? Why couldn't they just leave him alone...? He opened his eyes, resolutely fixing a careful, emotionless mask upon his face, as he looked at the older man.

"I hear that house-elf of yours is dead," his father suddenly said, breaking into the silence.

Tibby...

Almost immediately his mask threatened to slip. Sirius bowed his head slightly, locking his eyes on the small stain on the neckline of the man's robe, unwilling to let him see the true levels of his distress. Unfortunately even that small, evasive movement seemed to give away his feelings to the older, far too perceptive, man, and a smirk twisted his lips.

"Is poor little Siri all upset?" he sneered. "The little house-elf's head is now mounted... Would you like to see it?"

He couldn't help but flinch at the thought. No, he very definitely didn't want to see it.

His father laughed. When he spoke again, however, his voice, although still holding an amused edge, was more serious. "I've been rather busy in my workshop, **_Son_**," he said. "You might be interested to know that your little act of vandalism was not quite as successful as you might have hoped."

The smile that the older man gave him caused a shiver of fear to course through his body, and Sirius huddled further back onto his bed, his eyes fixed again on his father's face.

"For starters - the scrolls that you saved. Well, they have proven to be most useful. More so, in fact, than any others you could have chosen to keep."

The scrolls... Sirius bit down on his lip. He should have guessed that really. Why had he not guessed that? The whole reason he had kept those particular ones was because the information that they held was the most damning he could find. He really ought to have guessed that they were also the ones that would be most useful to his father. But... their very existence had actually fled his mind with everything that had since then happened to him.

"Several cauldrons were," the older man continued, "by some miracle, still close enough to their original, intended format for me to recreate them." With a smirk, he added, "One or two of my completed projects also managed to survive."

"These little things..." the man mused, producing two small vials from within his robe. "These..." He tossed them carelessly from hand to hand. "Protected by a simple unbreakable charm – I never would have guessed just how thankful I would be for choosing to cast it."

His eyes suddenly locked onto Sirius' – cold, unforgiving.

"That does not negate the fact that your destruction has cost me dearly, has set back my work by years!"

A sudden, overwhelming jolt of fear – of terror – shot through Sirius, as his father advanced on him. He couldn't stop shaking. Why couldn't he stop shaking?

"On your feet!" the man ordered.

His eyes widening as a sense of panic gathered, with his heartbeat thudding wildly in his chest, Sirius hurriedly obeyed.

"We're going for a little walk, **_Son_**. I'm in need of some... help... in my workshop."

Help. Sirius shuddered. He had no illusions as to what the man meant. He had 'helped' him before. More times than he cared to remember. He wasn't going to be scrubbing cauldrons, that was for sure. To 'help' most likely meant that he was to be used as a test subject. Almost involuntarily he began to back away as his father moved closer – but he had nowhere to go. All too soon he felt his back connect with the solid barrier of the wall.

With a cold sneer his father suddenly grabbed hold of him, his hand gripping down tightly on Sirius' broken arm, tearing it free of the makeshift sling. The world darkened, swaying around him as pain swamped his senses. He would never be sure what kept him on his feet – mainly, he supposed, the knowledge that if he fell his entire body weight would be hanging on his arm.

"Listen carefully." The words were snarled in his ear, cutting through the haze that surrounded him. "Try anything – anything at all – and I won't hesitate. You are living on my whim now. You won't get far. Understand?" For a moment there was silence. Sirius frowned as the meaning of his father's words slowly trickled through to his brain - on his whim? What did he mean, on his whim...? "I said, do you understand?"

Finally realising, as the older man's fingers tightened around his forearm, that he was actually expected to answer, Sirius hurriedly nodded his head. "Yes," he gasped. "Yeah... understand..."

"Good."

With only a quick, muttered word at the door – removing the seal, Sirius' mind groggily supplied – his father dragged him out of the room. The trip down to the study had to be one of the most unpleasant experiences of his life. Several times he tripped, his legs giving way beneath him. His father simply kept on, his grip unwavering, forcing Sirius to quickly scramble to regain his feet in order to ease the blazing agony as he was dragged downwards.

By the time they reached the study he was hanging on to consciousness by a bare thread. He couldn't afterwards remember passing through to the inner room. The next thing he knew he was being shoved onto a familiar, hard, wooden chair, and his father's grip was finally, blissfully gone. Sirius slumped against the chair-arm, fighting to regain a sense of stillness from within the tumult that claimed him. Slowly, very, very slowly, the room came back into focus.

His father was standing before the store cupboard, rummaging amongst the items within. His back was to Sirius. The route to the door – the open door – was clear. Sirius' eyes narrowed, flicking between the opening and his father's back. Could he make it? Could he get out of the door before his father realised what he was doing? Could he get out of the house? It was worth a try... Anything was worth a try to get him out of this place. It might be the only chance he'd get. Gathering every shred of energy that still resided in his body, he pushed himself to his feet.

Moving slowly, cautiously, careful not to make any sort of noise that would draw his father's attention, Sirius edged across the room, forcing himself to ignore the pain that grew with every step. His pace speeded a little as he realised that it was working. His father had not noticed him. He was nearly out! Only a few steps more and he'd be into the study. Once there...

"_Incarcerous_!"

Thick ropes suddenly twined around him, sending him crashing to the floor as they caught at his ankles. He twisted, desperately trying to keep his injured arm from taking the impact. But it was no use. A harsh cry of pain was torn from his throat, darkness momentarily claiming him, as he struck the ground.

So close... He had been so close...

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

He was lifted until he hung before his father, his feet several inches off the ground. "I warned you," the man said, "My whim, remember?" He paused. "Hmm, what a familiar little scenario this is. Does it seem familiar to you?" With a small smile playing around his lips he began to idly sway his wand back and forth, setting Sirius' bound form swinging before him. "Shall we play that game some more?"

Sirius choked back a strangled cry, struggling to draw a breath. Not this! Oh shit – not again! A sense of fear fixed a choking grip around his chest as he stared at his father's face. Amused – the man actually looked amused!

"Please... don't... Father, please..."

"Silence!" The smile left the older man's face as his hand lashed out, striking Sirius across an already bruised cheek. "I did not tell you that you could speak!" Sirius closed his eyes, preparing himself for more – but none came. "Enough of this. As enjoyable as it is, I have work to do."

Sirius reopened his eyes, half-afraid of what he might see, as the older man turned and strode across the room. As if drawn by an invisible thread he trailed along behind until, with a flick from his father's wand and a murmur of "_finite_", he found himself dropped back onto the chair. The ropes wriggled around, twining along the chair-arms, binding him in place. All chances of escape were now well and truly gone. He dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes again as he fought to steady his rapid breathing, fought to regain some sort of composure. He had been so close...

His father's fingers suddenly fastened around his chin and Sirius flashed open his eyes, a jolt of fear running through him as he felt cold glass pressing against his mouth. He shook his head, clamping his lips tightly closed. Merlin, no! He didn't want to... He really didn't want to. The hand moved to his nose, closing off his airway until he was forced to open his mouth to draw a breath.

"Drink up," his father said softly.

It was then that the potion was poured down his throat.

* * *

A/N – I can hardly believe how many more reviews I got for the last chapter. You guys are wonderful! Please, please, keep it up. I love reviews! I need more...

Egwene – Umm – are you going to need cheering up again now? Sorry! This chapter is back to my normal length – which is around 3000 words. The last two have been the odd ones falling at 4100 and then 2300. I'm glad you didn't mind too much, it really was purely a problem of where to divide them. I was actually kind of surprised that no one else guessed Tibby's fate. It seemed the only logical outcome to me, which is why it happened – there was no way she would survive there long. At least you're not telling me there's not enough angst any more. That had me rather worried for a while! As for escape – you'll have to wait and see! I'm hoping it will be credible. Most of its already written – it was actually one of the first scenes I wrote! You're welcome to translate it. As I said to Allacaya, as long as you credit it to me, I don't mind. I'm flattered that people like it enough to want to put that much time and energy into translating it. Anyway, thanks for you're review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Allacaya – I really don't know where to start in replying to your review – there was so much to it! – so I think I'll just go through and answer all your questions. Right... Firstly, no, his mother is definitely no Death Eater. I have some ideas on the whole Death Eater organisation thing, which I'll (probably) go into a bit later, so I won't explain it all here. You'll have to wait and see just how he'll escape. I think the window thing was answered in this chapter and his room is on the top floor, which I think has been mentioned in an earlier chapter (possibly Ch.1). As for Hogwarts – I don't think they really know what his home life is like. They know that they're fanatical pure-bloods and all that, but some things are not mentioned outside of the family. If any hint of the true state of affairs were to get out – yes, they are very influential. It would very quickly be covered up, unless it was so bad that it really couldn't be. And Sirius' situation now is in no way the norm. Yeah, I think Tibs would have preferred to have died for a successful theft than a failed one, but you don't always get what you want. Umm – psychothrillers scare me. I'm a coward. I don't watch them. You're so right about the playing with their prey! I can see them both as really satisfied cats, playing with their captured mouse. I don't think Mr Black is going to find out about her crucioing Sirius. He's not going to tell him and I doubt she is, so... No, no row I'm afraid, though I did think about it. You were right – he was moved, but not to somewhere he could really escape from, unfortunately. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Eek - I can't believe how long that reply has managed to get!

Xaverii Jade – Thanks! I'm glad you didn't mind the length. This one is longer though, and a lot more happens in it.

Cicci Green – Wahey! My first review calling me evil. I've always wanted someone to call me evil! I'm not sure whether this is what you call a quick update, but I try to get a chapter up every Sunday, so this is the quickest you're likely to get.

Willow Ann Rover – thank you very much for your reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying it. Umm... he will get out eventually, that's all I can really say!

Elves of the Moon – I've been reviewed by a fan of Cassia and Sio! I knew as soon as I saw the name that I'd seen replies to your reviews somewhere before – had to go on to your bio to figure it out. Thank you very much for your review. I can't really answer most of your questions, I'm afraid, as it'll ruin the story, but rest assured that he will get back to Hogwarts... eventually. Hope you enjoy this chapter as well - and reviewing is good! Please do it again!

Kangaroo - Sorry about that cliff-hanger, and the one on this chapter as well. I think I'd better apologise in advance for the one that I think is going to be on the next chapter, if everything falls as planned. As for the story, I will be going quite a way with it – after this one is finished there'll be another two following and by the end of it all everyone will be friends again, etc, etc. Please update 'Cruel Kisses'. I enjoyed Ch 1, if I remember correctly, and just want to see what's been happening to Sirius, even if, as you say, it isn't very interesting... Thanks for your review.

Prongs – thanks for your reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Gohan Hugger – Eek! Sorry! Didn't mean to traumatise anyone! Here's next chapter for you... I hate to think what sort of state you'll be in by now.

A/N – right, um – next chapter may be a day or two late. I usually post on Sunday as it's my day off work and I can spend all day writing, but it looks like I'm going to be working next week. If possible I'll try to get it up early, on Friday (my other day off), but I can't promise anything. If I do have to work the Sunday I should be given either Monday or Tuesday off, so I'll get it up then. Sorry! Oh, and I think I'll be cheeky now and say that reviews do make me write quicker, so if I get lots and lots of lovely reviews off people I might make Friday...

Bye-de-byes

Misthea


	11. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer – Not mine.

Chapter Eleven

It was not a large dose - little more than a few drops, really - but it burned a trail like acid against his throat. He gagged and, had his father's hand not clamped down over his mouth, would have spat the bitter liquid back out. As it was he was forced to swallow it down, the acrid flavour bringing tears to his eyes. Finally his father released his grip, leaving Sirius gasping for breath, his chest heaving. Biting back a strangled sob he let his eyes fall closed - unwilling to see the expression of cruel triumph that was sure to be on the older man's face.

The next few minutes were probably the worst, whilst he waited for the potion to take effect; waited to find out what exactly was going to happen to him. He sat, shaking helplessly, the harsh ropes digging into tender flesh holding him locked in place. All the while he could hear his father moving around him, murmuring spells.

Sirius bit down on his lip, fighting against the whimpers that struggled to escape, determinedly keeping his eyes tightly shut. These spells were only too familiar to him from the many previous such occasions. A faintly glowing aurora would be forming around his body - a dim gold now, but soon its shimmering patterns would reveal to the older man's practised eye the exact effects of the potion. It was an enchanting sight, to someone who was unaware of its purpose. He remembered a time once, a long time ago, when he had been fascinated by it, as he'd watched it engulf the forms of rats and gnomes. That was only a short while before he had first seen it around himself...

Cold - seeping up through his fingers and toes. Oh shit! Was this it? Was it starting? Sirius flashed his eyes open, glancing down towards his extremities. Blue light flickered upon gold, and he squeezed them back closed. It was starting. Oh Merlin, it was starting...

The chill continued to spread, leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its wake. The sensation moved no higher than his knees and elbows, however, before it began to fade. Sirius shook his head in confusion, his eyes opening almost involuntarily to glance again at the blue lights. They had halted, he saw, and had begun to slowly retreat. Was that it? His gaze was drawn to his father, who was rising now from his seat and setting down his scroll.

That wasn't it, no.

His father lifted another vial from a workbench as he stepped closer. He didn't speak a single word, merely forced Sirius' mouth back open - ignoring his feeble resistance - and poured the potion in. The distant, impersonal gaze probably scared Sirius more than any of the man's earlier anger. He didn't care what he did to him now. All he cared about were his precious potions. He, Sirius, was no different to him than one of his damned rats.

The effects spread. Blue lights, swiftly darkening, flickered over his entire body.

As the next dose was tipped into his mouth, he hardly even struggled - merely grimacing at the bitter, acrid taste. What point was there in fighting? It wouldn't do him any good, would it? It hadn't done him any good so far...

When his father approached him for a fourth time, he couldn't have struggled even had he possessed the will power to still do so. The lights had moved through shades of purple and into a nauseating mixture of swirling black and red. He couldn't move a single muscle. Icy numbness had been replaced by a leaden inertia, which, with the augmentation of the latest dosage, spread even further - moving now from the purely physical, into mental spheres.

His father was speaking. Words sounded in his ears, filtering slowly into his brain. He was ordering him to stand up... How could he stand up? He was tied... not to mention numb...

Pain sparked through darkness, harsh white searing through black, causing him to gasp at the sharp sensation. The ropes were gone - or so the older man's voice informed him. He would be able to stand, and if he did as he was told the pain would stop. It was only whilst he refused orders that the potion would cause him pain. But he couldn't, he thought. He **_couldn't_** move. And, a small, distant part of his brain added, he really didn't want to be following this man's instructions, anyway.

He could move, he was informed, as the pain steadily increased. To obey the instructions he could do it. But... he didn't want to...

He hardly even noticed his father's presence before him. His sight was blurry and uncertain, repeatedly slipping into a mere mass of unintelligible shape and colour. The man's hand upon his chin barely sent a shimmer of sensation through his nerve endings. He did, however, feel the potion burning its path down his throat.

Darkness fully claimed him. His consciousness seemed caught, trapped, ensnared in a small cage within his mind. He could hear the orders being spoken, but he had no control over his body's actions. He was moving - slowly, cumbersomely - a puppet whose strings were held in his father's hands. He himself could do nothing to either help or hinder. He tried... To venture a conscious thought, however, outside of the cage, caused pain to swamp him.

When the next dose of potion passed his lips, he knew nothing more.

* * *

The repetitive scritching of a quill upon parchment was the first thing that he became aware of, the irritating noise filtering through the enshrouding darkness. Next, in a sudden, overwhelming wash, the pain returned. He couldn't help the groan that escaped him. The sound of the quill stopped, to be replaced a moment later by the scrape of chair-legs upon the tiled floor. Footsteps swiftly followed. 

Sirius unwillingly opened his eyes. His father stood before him, his eyes scanning over the still present aurora, keenly examining every inch. He followed the older man's gaze. A golden glow again surrounded his body – which meant that the effects of the potion had dispersed. Without speaking a single word to him, his father crossed back to his scroll and quickly scribbled some notes. When he returned, an unpleasant smile was on his face, and another vial was in his hand.

He would never be able to say just how long the testing went on for. Dose after dose of various potions were forced down his throat. Several times he lost consciousness, only for everything to begin again upon his return to reality. His father barely spoke the entire time – only to bark the occasional order. Many times, in a variety of manners, he felt his control wrested from his grip, forcing him to dance to his father's tune. His entire body was wracked with agonising pain more times than he could count. After one series of dosages he felt as if he was being torn apart. After another session he felt as if his insides had turned to flame. His screams continued to echo in his ears long after the actual sound had faded. Each time when the darkness claimed him he prayed that, this time, everything would end.

He slumped forward against his bonds, his dark hair hanging, a limp, greasy mess, around his face. He didn't know how much longer he could take this for. Each breath he drew required more and more effort, wheezing painfully against his throat. His head swam. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father suddenly snap to his feet, but he had passed the point of caring. He simply concentrated on breathing. In. Out. Why was it getting so hard?

"Interesting..." the older man murmured, approaching him. "Seven and four... Yes, a very interesting reaction."

It was getting even harder to draw a breath. His throat felt as if it had swelled closed, allowing only a small amount of air to trickle past to his lungs - and that trickle seemed to be growing even less with each breath he took. He couldn't breathe. Oh shit... He couldn't breathe! His chest was burning as he fought for air. His sight blurred. The room faded to grey. His father continued to stand before him, scribbling notes. He tried to speak; tried to beg the man to help him, but no words emerged. Grey darkened into black. He was going to die! Oh Merlin... he was going to die... He could dimly make out the shape of his father's figure moving away. Oh shit...

Unconsciousness claimed him.

* * *

Slowly the room came back into focus. His first realisation was that he could breathe again. The next was that his father was not there. Sirius blinked, his brain refusing to process what his eyes told him. His father was gone. The chair that he had occupied was now empty. He shook his head, struggling to clear away the grogginess that continued to shroud his thoughts. With a vague sense of confusion dragging at him, he glanced around the shadowed chamber, but the older man was nowhere to be found. He was alone. 

He was also, however, still bound to the chair. Or was it... bound again? Had he been free for a time? He thought so... He had a vague memory of being so... but no, he couldn't remember. He briefly struggled, fighting to break free, but his efforts merely seemed to cause the ropes to draw tighter. His arms were pinned down to the chair-arms - there was nothing he could do to ease the pain as the harsh fibres of the rope dug into the tender, swollen flesh of his broken arm.

With a strangled sob, he gave up fighting. He wasn't going to get away... He had to accept that. It was impossible. Even if he did get out of the damned chair, he doubted he could get out of the building. For that matter – he doubted he could even get out of the room. His situation was hopeless.

How long had he been in here now? He had no way of telling. The ropes binding his wrists obscured the face of his watch. He didn't even have the slightest idea whether it was day or night. With the heavy black curtains that shrouded the windows, no light of any sort could get through. It could have been hours or, for all he knew, days.

Sirius shivered in the room's chill, biting back another sob as his battered body protested the involuntary movement. Usually the cold, as well as the dismal gloom, was lifted by the fire in the grate, but in his father's absence, this, as well as the gas-lamps that adorned the walls, remained unlit. Only the few, small fires, set beneath cauldrons around the large room, were able to struggle in any way against the tenacious darkness – but they were able to do little other than disperse a few shadows.

He really did feel like shit, he thought, drawing a shaky breath into his burning chest. He had given up trying to isolate the individual pains and accepted now that there was not a single point on his body that didn't hurt in some way. He was also hungry and thirsty - the effects of which merely heightened his overall feeling of shittiness.

With a sigh, Sirius turned his listless gaze back to the room around him. He hadn't really had a chance before now to actually take in the state of the room – not that he particularly wanted to now, but he didn't really have much else to do, did he? It was definitely far different to the last time he had been in there. All signs of his destruction had been cleared away. The debris was gone. The spillages had been mopped up. Only a handful of potions were simmering in cauldrons. Sirius didn't even want to think about what was in them. Even had he not just been forced to sample a large range of his father's concoctions, he knew only too well what the man had been developing.

He wished he had never found that letter. If he hadn't done so, none of this would have happened. It wasn't as if any of his actions had actually made a difference, was it? If only... There were so many 'if only's. If only he had left when he had the chance. He should have just gone back to Hogwarts that night; should have simply informed Dumbledore of his father's work; should have ignored the potions and left. He should never have tried to play the hero. It had all been for nothing. Pointless - completely pointless. After-all, Voldemort would still get his potions, and he... He was trapped in this hellish place when he could have been safe at Hogwarts. His actions had done nothing but get him into deeper trouble.

And Tibs... if only he hadn't sent Tibby to get his wand. She would still be alive if he hadn't. He had known what would happen to her were she caught. He had known - yet he had still sent her. What sort of person did that make him?

Worthless...

If only - and everything really came back to this - if only he hadn't sent Snape to the Willow. If he hadn't... If he hadn't he would still have friends. He could have stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas - he wouldn't have had to face his parents again until the summer. And... and he would never have had to go into his father's study in search of Dumbledore's letter...

To say that he regretted his actions would be the biggest understatement of the century. But that wasn't going to help him now. He was simply left with the knowledge that he had brought it all on himself. Everything he had done over the past month had been stupid. A mistake. All he had done was cause pain, and not just for himself.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He couldn't even lift a hand to wipe them away. He closed his eyes, fighting them back. What if his father returned? Or his mother? He couldn't let them see him cry! It was probably stupid... After everything that he had been through, what could it hurt now to let them see him weep? But... He just couldn't. It would be the final indignity. Despite his efforts, though, the tears continued to fall. He gritted his teeth, biting back the sobs that threatened to escape - the salty taste of his tears lingering upon his dry lips.

He needed his friends. He needed them now, more than he had ever done so before – and he had driven them away. Why had he done it? Even if Snivellus **_had_** deserved it he should never have used Moony in such a way. He was a fool. A stupid, worthless fool.

Time slipped past. His tears finally ended, the liquid drying on his cheeks. He slumped on the chair, his thoughts adrift. The steady sputtering of bubbling potions, and the shuffling of the captive gnomes in their cages, were the only noises he could hear, and they formed a background to his depressing musings.

The sound of the outer door opening jolted him suddenly back to reality. Footsteps sounded loudly. Sirius stared at the closed door that lay between him and... whomever it might be, willing it to remain still. Go away, he silently begged. Please, just go away. He wasn't sure he could take any more...

The door opened.

"You look like shit."

In the doorway stood Regulus, a slightly nervous expression on his face as he gazed at him.

"What a wonderful observation," Sirius growled, forcing his racing heartbeat to slow. "What do you want, Regulus?"

The younger boy slowly advanced into the room, casting nervous glances back towards the exit as he came. Whether he was checking his escape route or making sure that he hadn't been followed, Sirius couldn't be sure.

"You really do look like shit," he finally repeated, coming to stand in front of him.

"So you said. Have you got anything else to say or are you going to leave me in peace." He couldn't help but feel fairly uncomfortable beneath his brother's unreadable gaze, but... this was **_Regulus_**. He wasn't ready to feel scared of Regulus.

For the space of several long moments silence reigned between them.

"Father's gone out," the younger boy suddenly blurted.

"So - what? You've come to gloat while he's not here?" Sirius' voice was harsh, rasping against his dry throat. Merlin, he needed a drink!

"No! I... I don't know... This is stupid. I'm going."

Without another word he turned and walked away. Sirius stared after him in confusion. That 'no' had been quite emphatic. In fact... his brother had actually sounded friendly! Was it possible...? Was it actually possible that his brother was wanting to **_help_** him? It was an odd concept for Sirius to get his head around, having been faced with open hostility from the other boy for the past five years. Even before that they had never been particularly close. Sirius had always been the trouble-maker; the one who broke the rules. Regulus had gloried in his position as the 'good boy', and had rarely missed a chance to get his older sibling into trouble.

"If you didn't come to gloat," he finally croaked, stilling his brother's hand upon the door-handle, "then why did you come?"

"I said - I don't know," Regulus replied, his face still turned away.

"Reg..." He paused, biting on his lower lip as he tried to decide how to proceed. He had to get his brother on his side – but how? He had to keep him in here, had to keep him talking. "Where's he gone?" he finally asked. "Father? Where's he gone? And when's he going to get back?" He couldn't help the slightly scared wobble in his voice as he asked after the older man. He drew a deep breath, hoping that his brother didn't notice it.

Regulus shrugged, turning back to look at him. "I dunno. He's been gone a while now, though. He could be back anytime." He cast another nervous glance at the door as he said this.

"What about Mother? What's she doing?"

"She's making the final arrangements for tomorrow's party," Regulus said, slowly retracing his steps across the room until he was again standing before him.

"Tomorrow's...? Tomorrow is New Year's Eve?"

"Yeah." The other boy cast him a slightly bemused look. "Why? What day did you think it was?"

He slowly shook his head. "Last thing I knew it was still the 28th..."

"No. It's the 30th today. It's still morning – elevenish, I think."

The 30th! He'd been tied to this bloody chair for over a day and a half! He closed his eyes, biting down on his lip as he struggled to stay calm. He had to get out of here... He had to! Panicking wouldn't help him.

"Regulus?" he asked, opening his eyes to meet his brother's. "Can you help me get out of here?

The younger boy's eyes widened in fear, his eyes flicking quickly towards the doorway as he took a step back, shaking his head.

"Please, Regulus... Please help me!"

"I can't, Sirius!" he cried. "You know that. I can't - he'd kill me..." Regulus paused, his eyes shifting nervously away. "Besides," he added, "you deserve it..."

Sirius closed his eyes, his breath escaping him in a sigh. "Just... go away, Regulus," he finally said. He didn't have the energy to beg any further. What point was there? It would never work. Besides... His brother was right, wasn't he? He did deserve it. He deserved everything. "Leave me alone."

But Regulus didn't go. Sirius opened his eyes to find his brother standing still before him, shuffling uncertainly from foot to foot.

"Is there... Um... Do you need anything?"

This couldn't be real, Sirius thought, again closing his eyes. He had to be dreaming. Hallucinating. He gave his head a shake - a movement that he instantly regretted as pain shot through his aching skull. The younger boy was still there, however, when he looked again, a pained expression in his eyes.

"Other than to get out of here?" he finally replied.

"Sirius..."

"It's alright. I know. You can't." He paused. "Water. I need a drink. Please."

With an abrupt nod of his head, Regulus scuttled over to the sink. Sirius watched him in silence. After a few minutes of scavenging for a goblet, the younger boy returned and held the brimming cup to his lips. He drank it down thirstily, hardly pausing as the cool liquid filled his mouth. Twice it was refilled, and, had his brother's movements not been growing increasingly nervous, his eyes rarely leaving the door, he would have asked for more.

"I've got to go, Sirius," Regulus squeaked, his knuckles white against the dark wood of the goblet. "He could be back anytime. I don't want... I don't want to anger him too!"

"I know," Sirius answered. "And... thank you."

"Bye, Siri."

Without another word the younger boy was gone, depositing the goblet at the sink on his way. Siri... He hadn't called him that in years. Not since before Hogwarts... Sirius sighed, leaning back in the chair, his eyes closed. Regulus had actually been nice to him! A slight warm glow filled him at the thought. Regulus had actually been nice!

The warm glow remained with him for the next half-hour or so – only to be replaced by a sudden sinking sense of nausea as his father re-entered the room.

"Now then," the older man smirked, slinging his cloak over the back of his chair. "Where were we up to?

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A/N – I'm so sorry about the wait for this chapter! I have just had the two most insane weeks. I've been lucky to get the odd half-hour in which to sit down and write. Hopefully things will be back to normal now though, so Chapter 12 should be up next Sunday. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. There are bits of it I'm not actually so fond of myself, but I thought I'd better post it... If you have any comments – positive or negative – please do leave me a review! 

Allacaya – I'm really sorry about the wait – I hope you didn't fret _too_ much over Sirius! As for that 'familiar scenario' bit, I didn't mean for it to be obscure. Think back to Ch. 6: "He hung now, suspended in mid-air, as his father bellowed his insults at him." His father was in a slightly better mood this time, but that was what he was referring to. I think he rather enjoyed that game of let's-toss-Sirius-around-the-room... No, MWP have never been to Sirius' house. Firstly, he knows how his parents would react if he brought them home, and secondly, he doesn't want to subject his friends to his parent's rants. So, no, they have no idea what his home-life if like. Um, yeah – I think it's amazing Sirius didn't turn out to be a Death Eater, as well. I think Tibby probably had quite an influence on him – probably more than his parents did. There will be quite a bit more about his childhood later on, where you should be able to see just why he turned out the way he did. Scarily enough, it was while studying child development (I've trained to be a nursery nurse) that I got one of my original ideas for this story. I wanted to explore just what would make him turn out the way he did. I hope you like this chapter!

Mily – Thank you! I hope you like this chapter. The torture will come to a stop... eventually. Hogwarts express leaves on the 2nd.

Gohan Hugger – I actually burst out laughing when I read your review! I hope you've recovered somewhat, at least enough to have read this chapter.

Phinea – Thanks for your reviews. I'm sorry you liked Tibs so much, but I'm afraid that was going to be her fate from the moment I created her. Please do forgive me... Although, having said that, I do rather like being called 'evil'!

Lhune – Yeah, I'm obsessed with Cassia and Sio too. That's actually been a bit of a problem this past couple of weeks. I actually have a free half-hour or so in which to write, and what am I doing? Reading 'Cell Number Nine'. Um... Whoops! I'm afraid Sirius won't be able to rethink using the mirror, as he doesn't have it with him. He left it at Hogwarts – he didn't see any point in taking it home with him, where it would only be at risk from his family. The Hogwarts express leaves on the 2nd and term begins again on the 3rd. I hope that helps.

Ramis Hunroll – I'm glad you liked that chapter. Personally, I don't think this one is as good, but maybe that's just me. Yeah, he will get back to Hogwarts and see his friends eventually.

Cicci Green – I do like being called evil. Umm, sorry! That one week wait became two... Hope you liked this chapter.

Jan – thanks for the review. Here's your update, though I'm afraid it wasn't really soon...

Bye-de-byes

Misthea


	12. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer – They're not mine. I just like to play with them...

A/N – I am so sorry about the wait for this chapter! I swear the Fates have been working against me on this. If it hasn't been one thing, it's been another... Anyway, it's here now – though I have to admit that I'm still not particularly happy with several bits of it. I thought you'd rather have the chapter now, though, than wait for me to fiddle around with it 'til I was completely happy.

This chapter is dedicated to Allacaya, who was my 50th reviewer. She's also a generally, all-round, wonderful reviewer... Thank you very much. If I get to 100 reviews, someone else will get a chapter dedicated to them. (Hint, hint – please leave me a review!!!)

* * *

Chapter Twelve

He had never before been so pleased to open his eyes to the sight of his bedroom; to the dingy, off-white paint-work; to the ragged, dark drapes and dusty surfaces, all lit by only the dull glow of a distant street-light. He was lying, dumped unceremoniously in a sprawled heap, on the floor inside his doorway. The coarse fibres of his blood-marked carpet pressed roughly against his cheek. The sharp smells of blood and sweat were sickeningly heavy in his nostrils. His door was closed. The warding was almost certainly back in place.

He groaned, curling into a ball as shivers sent pain spasming through him. Merlin – he was so cold! He couldn't stay where he was... He had to get somewhere warm. He began to push himself slowly, carefully, to his feet. His movement was halted after barely a moment, however, as a sudden wave of fierce, griping pain clawed through his gut, setting a wave of nausea washing over him. He heaved, his empty stomach clenching, setting fresh pain searing through his abused flesh. The foul taste of bile filled his mouth. Oh Merlin... It hurt. Oh shit...

Finally, after a seemingly endless age, it passed.

He knelt, his head bowed, his broken arm clutched to his chest, as the room swayed around him. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, struggling to settle his senses. Each panting breath that he drew caught in a strangled sob as he dragged air past his sore throat. He couldn't take this any more. He just... couldn't.

It seemed to take more energy than he currently possessed to even lift his hand to wipe his mouth against his sleeve. Probably a good thing – Tibs had always hated it when he did that. It was a habit, or so she had always said, that she had despaired of ever breaking him from. She had had to clean food stains off his robes regularly throughout his younger years. The sight of her eldest child in dirty robes had always set his mother on the rampage, and both he and Tibs would suffer the consequences.

Tibs had always suffered because of him. He did nothing but bring misery to everyone who knew him.

With a sense of hollow despair dragging him down, he slumped back to the floor. What point was there in moving? Really? He would still hurt. He'd still be stuck in the room. He'd probably still be cold – not to mention feel like shit. It wasn't as if he'd really be all that much better off in his bed. The thin bedclothes didn't do much to warm him, after-all.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to sink slowly back into treacle-like darkness. Time slid indifferently past. He continued to lie, shivering uncontrollably, as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

He ought to move. The thought flitted through his mind, carving through layers of listless apathy. He really ought to get up... But still he lay, as he was, his only movement caused by his helpless shivers. He **_would_** be warmer in his bed, even if only a little - the extra heat that he would gain would help him. At the moment his body was using up precious energy merely trying to keep him warm.

Right... He had to get up...

Now would be good...

Eventually, with small, slow movements, he pushed himself to his knees, and, from there, to his feet. For a long moment he merely stood, swaying unsteadily as he gazed over the distance separating him from his bed – a distance that could have been miles, for all the strength that he seemed to possess. He drew a deep breath and resolutely took the first faltering step.

He had finally reached his bed, his hand gripping onto the wooden headboard for support, when the sound of brisk, staccato footfalls upon his stairs caused him to spin in alarm. The quick movement was a mistake. The room swayed, edges growing fuzzy and faint, as his head pounded its protest. With his fingers still locked tightly onto the headboard he sat down with a thump on the edge of his bed, his legs giving way, a sense of dread filling him. Those were his mother's footsteps. He would know them anywhere...

"What are you doing, Spica?"

He could feel the blood draining from his face as the unexpected sound of his father's soft voice caused a fresh wave of terror to run through him. He sat, frozen in place, his breath steaming in the cold air before him, as he waited for his mother's reply. What did they want now? What was going to happen? Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

"Just visiting my son. No more than that."

"Really?" The man's drawl sent a shiver running down Sirius' spine. "That same **_son_** whose name, only yesterday, you blasted off the family tree?" His voice suddenly turned hard. "I've told you already, Spica. He's mine. Do not touch him."

"You're a fool, Arcturus. What are you going to do – keep him locked up in there forever? What if he were to escape?"

"He won't."

"But what if he did? What would we do then? He knows too much. He's dangerous! You can't risk..."

"I will risk exactly what I **_wish_** to risk!"

"You will not risk **_me_**! I will not see our good name dragged into the dirt just because of that disgusting brat!"

Sirius' hand clenched even tighter upon the wood of his headboard, his eyes closing as he listened to them argue. Just what **_did_** his father plan to do with him? He had, generally, other than with thoughts of escape, tried not to think about the future. At the back of his mind he had, he supposed, always had the thought that, come the 2nd of January, he'd be on the Hogwarts Express - he'd be free of them. How likely was that though? Really? Thinking about it from their perspective? He did know too much. After what they had done to him, after everything... how could he remain silent? He wouldn't be able to. Even if he promised not to say anything **_now_** – they weren't stupid enough to believe he'd actually keep the promise.

They weren't stupid enough to just let him go.

He couldn't help but remember his father's words of a few days ago – _"Your life is on my whim now."_ His life. His **_life_**! It was beginning to look increasingly unlikely that he'd actually be getting out of this alive.

He didn't want to die...

"That is enough, Spica! He is mine, and that is final."

"Fine," his mother spat back. "Have it your way!"

Rather than retreat, as Sirius had hoped they now would, his mother's footsteps resumed their approach to his room.

"Where are you going?"

"To visit my son, as I told you."

"Spica..."

"Oh, don't worry. I won't do anything. He's your plaything, I know."

The door opened, and Sirius found himself facing not one, but both of his parents.

"Sirius, my dearest boy," his mother gushed, sweeping into the room ahead of his father. "How are you feeling?"

He cringed automatically back from the woman's form as she moved in close to him – but most of what he actually felt at her falsely loving manner was disquietude. His fear of her, although still present, was held in abeyance. After all, she couldn't do anything to him with his father standing there watching. That little argument he had just overheard told him that much. Or, at least, she couldn't do anything serious...

Okay... so maybe the fear wasn't all **_that_** much in abeyance, he thought, unable to prevent the small whimper from escaping him as her fingers brushed over his cheek. But, mostly, he was unnerved by the performance. What point was there to it? It wasn't as if she could fool him. It was, quite simply, far too unbelievable... Truly affectionate behaviour was something that he had rarely ever experienced – not coming from her, anyway.

She had never been an affectionate mother. Not even to Regulus, the good boy, who had always been her favourite, had she ever shown **_real_** affection. To him, the troublemaker, the son who insisted on breaking the rules, all that were ever given were disinterested looks and angry punishments. The only times he had ever really gotten any attention from her, never mind affection, was when he made her angry. The fact that he had ever actually **_wanted_** her attention was probably now the scariest thing.

Also, her act made a mockery out of everything that he had ever longed for – loving parents. Parents who treated him the way James' parents treated their son. The way James' parents had always treated him. Why couldn't he have had parents like that? But maybe... he didn't deserve parents like that. He probably would have driven even **_them_** to hate him. He'd managed to do so with everyone else, after all. He had brought everything on himself – all the anger, all the hatred, all the violence, and all the lack of love and affection. He deserved every minute of it...

"Why this display, Spica?" his father drawled from the doorway, echoing Sirius' earlier thoughts. "You're fooling no one. We all here know that you want to do nothing less than strangle the boy."

"Which is something that I should have done when I had the chance!"

His mother's ever-fragile hold upon her temper snapped as she turned back to face his father. Her hand, which had come to rest on Sirius' sore shoulder, suddenly clenched down hard, causing him to gasp in pain. He shrank back on his bed, but there was no way he could escape her cruel grip.

His father, as calm and cold as ever, crossed the room in a handful of long strides that swiftly carried him to the woman's side.

"Yes, you should have," he said, in a murmur that was barely loud enough for the faintly trembling Sirius to hear. "Because you're never going to have that opportunity again. Now," and his voice returned to its normal volume as his hand fixed around his wife's arm, drawing her away from Sirius, "come, my dearest, I believe our guests will begin arriving soon. We ought to be prepared." For a brief moment before he turned to leave, his icy glare fell upon Sirius, who fought to keep his fear from his face as he looked back at the older man. "I'll be seeing you later," he said.

Later... Oh shit... His breath caught in his throat. He didn't want to think about later. He felt too dazed and sick; too pained and shaky. And hungry. Despite the nausea that still swirled in his stomach, he felt undeniably hungry. In an unplanned, impulsive burst, he quickly found his voice. "Please..." he croaked after his father's retreating form. "I need something to eat." The man didn't even glance back at him as the door closed. The sound of footsteps steadily faded.

Sirius was alone again.

He slumped back on his bed, tugging his blankets over his shoulders. It had been worth a try. He supposed. It hadn't hurt anything, anyway – which was something.

Merlin he was hungry. He had never been so hungry in his life. Neither had he been so cold, or in so much pain. He would be warmer, he suddenly thought, curling his fingers into his body in an attempt to disperse their chill, as Padfoot. As Padfoot he would have a nice, thick, and very warm, coat. It was a tempting idea... But no. No, he couldn't. It wasn't a good idea. If his parents found out that he was animagus... No! They couldn't know about that. That was the one thing that might yet help him. Somehow. He wasn't entirely certain **_how_** yet, but... somehow.

He lay, curled on his bed, his broken arm cradled against his queasy stomach, drifting again on the edge of uneasy sleep. The sudden, unexpected sound of his door opening jerked him sharply back to reality. His eyes flashed open. He lifted his head, fixing his gaze straight-ahead on the door as it swung open. He hardly dared to draw a breath. Had his father returned already? Surely it couldn't be 'later' yet... Please, no - let it not be! He bit down on his lip, fighting against scared whimpers.

For one long moment he merely stared in shock, hardly able to believe that what he was seeing was actually real. With a disgusted glare, muttering under his breath about the 'filthy blood-traitor', Kreacher slammed a plate of food to the floor. A glass of water was set beside it, its contents sloshing with the careless handling. Then the house-elf was gone.

Sirius merely continued to stare in dazed astonishment. Food. He'd been given food. He slowly lifted himself up as the faint aromas drifting from the plate persuaded him that it **_was_** real. He had actually been given some food! Now he just had to get to it... Which meant that he had to walk again across his room.

The lure of the food was enough to drag him to his feet, his bed-coverings wrapped still around his shoulder. Leaning heavily against his wall, and using the few items of furniture that dotted his path to support his stumbling form, he slowly made his way towards the door and the waiting plate. To Sirius' deprived senses the meagre serving of bread, cheese and meat took on the appearance of a feast.

He finally dropped to his knees, his eyes fixed on the food before him – and then he hesitated. He could hardly believe that his father had actually listened to his request. He just couldn't believe it. With a shaking hand he reached towards a piece of bread.

But what if it was a trick? What if the food had been... tampered with? What if his father had put something in it? No... The man didn't need to put things clandestinely into his food - he quite happily poured them straight down his throat. His mother, on the other hand... He was quite certain that she wanted nothing less than to see him dead. Without any proof that she had done anything, though, he was too hungry to deny himself the sustenance.

He had taken only a handful of bites when a nauseous pain swept through his stomach. He groaned, dropping the bread back to the plate as he pressed his hand against his burning middle. His first thought was that he had been right about the food - his mother must have done something to it. It was a thought that flitted surprisingly calmly through his mind, only to be followed barely a moment later by a logical rebuttal as he remembered his earlier bout of sickness. This actually rather resembled that, and that had, most likely, been an after-affect of the potions.

As the pain faded he determinedly lifted a piece of meat to his lips. The food was fine, he told himself. He was just suffering from having had a half-dozen different potions systematically forced on him. And from having had hardly anything at all to eat for the past week – that couldn't be helping. Getting some food actually into his stomach would be good.

Although he had to stop several times as his stomach threatened to rebel, almost before he knew it the plate was half-empty and he was slowing to a halt. He wasn't entirely certain that it **_had_** helped him – but he thought that he was, possibly, beginning to feel a little better. A little. Possibly. Swallowing the last of the water he set the glass back on the floor. The remaining food he slipped into his pockets. He was pretty certain that he'd be needing it at some point. Merlin only knew when they'd feed him next.

With a pained groan he pushed himself to his feet and slowly retraced his route to his bed. The thin mattress with its wrinkled, dirty sheet looked undeniably appealing to his aching body. Drawing his blankets tighter around his shoulders, he clambered shakily up, shifting until his back rested against the headboard. He drew his knees to his chest, so his feet too were tucked beneath the coarse wool.

For a time he merely sat, staring at nothing as he struggled to block out the myriad pains of his body. His thoughts, like a dog on a leash, were continually drawn back to a small, persistent worry that niggled at the back of his mind.

He couldn't help but wonder... She had made her feelings towards him perfectly clear. So... what if she **_had _**done something to the food? He wouldn't put it past her. She would do it. He supposed the important question was whether or not she would defy his father's wishes.

If she thought that she could get away with it, she would. But... potions were his father's forte. Would she risk using something on him that the older man could trace back to her?

But, then again, after all the potions that he had had poured down his throat recently, maybe she banked on the hope that his death would be put down to a nasty after-effect...

His death.

Oh Merlin... Oh shit! He was going to die!

He bowed his head, resting his forehead against his knees as a surprisingly calm thought suddenly slipped through his mind. **_Would_** he really care if they did kill him? After all, there was nothing that particularly held him to life now, was there? His family hated him. His friends hated him. Hell, he even hated himself. There wasn't really any reason for him to feel otherwise... No one would really miss him. In fact, they'd probably all be much better off without him. His mother was right - he was worthless.

At least with death the pain would come to an end. Admittedly, he thought darkly, it would probably be preceded by quite a lot more, probably even worse, pain. Unless... He closed his eyes, drawing a deep, shaky breath. Suicide. He could deny them the pleasure. He could end it quickly, and relatively painlessly, himself. The empty glass still sat beside his door. Glass, when broken, was sharp. It would be his final defiance...

No! No, they would not defeat him in that way. He would not give in. After all - there was one thing that tied him still to life. It was simple really. The desire to see the truth about them, about his father, out in the open. The desire for revenge.

He would survive them. He would get out of here. Somehow, he would get away, and then the truth would be known.

* * *

It was several hours later that Kreacher again entered his room. He had sat for a long time merely listening to the noises drifting faintly from downstairs: voices, laughter, music. The wealthiest and most influential members of the pure-blooded community drank and socialised on the floors below him – no doubt discussing politics and the latest actions of their beloved Voldemort.

He was glad that he wasn't there - he couldn't deny that. He had always hated gatherings such as these. But the sounds did remind him of happier times. Times when he would see in the New Year with his friends at Hogwarts... In his third year he had stayed at James' house during the Christmas holidays and he, along with Remus and Peter, had attended the Potter's New Year's party. That had been fun. They had nearly destroyed the house with a slightly mistimed prank, but it had been fun.

He greatly doubted whether he would have any more such fun times in the future...

"Master is wanting you," the house-elf informed him with a glare. "Ungrateful little brat," it then muttered under its breath. "Kreacher hopes it gets what it deserves."

Father wanted him... He huddled further back, his head automatically shaking its denial as he fixed a distasteful gaze of the misshapen house-elf.

He couldn't help the shudder that swept through him as an undeniably pleased look settled on Kreacher's face. "Master said it might refuse. Master told Kreacher he could use whatever was necessary."

Without a moment's warning he felt himself engulfed in the harsh grip of the house-elf's magic. He was jerked of his bed, a surprised squawk escaping him as he scrabbled to regain his feet. He tried to break free – but it was useless. He was drawn inexorably after Kreacher's retreating form. He had no choice but to follow as the house-elf led him towards the exit.

It wasn't until he was dragged through the door that he realised that the wards hadn't been lowered.

As had happened before, a bright, harsh light flared, accompanied by bonds of pure energy that twined around him, holding him trapped. This was stronger than house-elf magic. He could still feel the tug of Kreacher's leash, but the warding held him firm. He couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped him as his injuries were aggravated.

Kreacher did nothing to help him. The house-elf merely stood, smirking nastily as it watched him writhe.

"The blood-traitor has broken Mistresses heart," he muttered. "The ungrateful brat..."

"Kreacher!" he gasped as the wards intensified their grip. He struggled to break free, an action that only succeeded in making the snake-like tendrils draw even tighter around him.

Finally, with wave of its hand, the house-elf freed him. Had he not also been held still by Kreacher's magic, he would have been sent tumbling down the stairs as the wards were lowered. As it was he stumbled forward, unable to catch himself. He lost his footing on the top step, his feet skidding out from under him, and slammed down into a seated position on the stair. Only the bonds placed upon him prevented him from falling any further.

He hardly had a moment to catch his breath before he felt himself jerked back upright as the house-elf scampered past him. With unsteady steps, he trailed unwillingly after him.

That little incident had, for the space of a few minutes, almost made him forget just where he was going to. Father... His fears rushed back. His father wanted him again. He was being taken back to the man's lab.

But it was not, he soon discovered, his father's lab that he was being led towards. He was instead pushed inside an empty room on the floor above. He could clearly hear the click of a lock as the door closed behind the smirking house-elf.

He had been left inside one of the entertaining rooms he realised, glancing around. That could not be good. He was in an entertaining room on a night when practically every pure-blooded family in the wizarding world was in the house. Sirius couldn't help the shudder that ran through him as he wondered just what exactly his father had planned. Just what sort of **_entertainment _**was the older man planning on providing for his insane, dark-arts-obsessed, Voldemort supporting peers? Whatever it was, he knew that he really didn't want to be a part of it. Unfortunately, he doubted that he would have much choice in the matter.

It wasn't long before he could hear someone approaching the room. In fact... That was more than one person approaching. Oh shit! He tried his hardest to suppress the fear that coursed through him as the footsteps drew steadily closer. He shivered, cradling his broken arm close to his chest as he huddled, his back pressed against the wall. Unless he was greatly mistaken, there were two set of footsteps approaching.

He was right. His father was not alone. He felt his eyes grow wide, almost choking in terror as the second man entered the room. Sirius didn't need to be told the identity of that tall, commanding figure. It was Voldemort.

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A/N – There you go - chapter 12. Finally. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please leave me a review!!!! I'm afraid I haven't got time to leave my usual review replies. It's already 1:30 in the morning! Again, I thought you'd all rather get this chapter now than wait... I will say though that I was overwhelmed by all the lovely reviews I got for last chapter. Thank you all so much! I'll try to reply to everyone personally on the next chapter, which _should_ be up next Sunday. (Fingers crossed!)

Bye-de-byes,

Misthea


	13. Chapter Thirteen

A/N – I am so sorry about how long you've all had wait for this chapter. I thought my life was insane a month ago – well it's gotten steadily worse! I've been lucky to have any days off work at all. We have three of us now doing the work of six. I only have today off because it's my birthday. I'm not going to promise any particular time for Chapter 14, because, quite simply, I doubt I'll be able to keep to it. I will **_try_** to not let it be too long, but it really does depend on work. I will promise, however, that it will be up eventually.

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Chapter Thirteen

Regulus' new robes were uncomfortable. The neck was too tight, despite the precise measurements that the tailor had taken, and the expensive fabric – in Slytherin green and silver – was heavy and suffocating in the warm room. The press of bodies already filling the enlarged chamber was making his discomfort even greater. His head was beginning to throb from the incessant, loud, chattering voices. The sickly sweet scents of the many flowers that were dispersed throughout the house – all expensively out of season and meant to be a subtle reminder of the wealth of the family – were making him feel sick. And the night had barely even begun.

He wasn't going to start thinking about Sirius, locked in his room upstairs.

He stood stiffly between his parents as they greeted the steady flow of arriving guests, his feet aching from standing in the same spot for so long. Smiling politely, he stepped forward to welcome yet another sour-faced, middle-aged 'friend' of Mother's. His movements by now were so practised as to be almost mechanical as he quickly shifted his attention onto the next new arrival.

He didn't want to be here. He didn't know where he did want to be, but it definitely wasn't here. Somewhere that didn't make his head pound would be nice...

"Regulus," his mother's piercing voice cut through his thoughts, making him jump as he turned to look guiltily at her. Her eyes, though, were not looking at him, but were scanning the crowded room with satisfaction.

"Yes, Mother?"

"Go and mingle."

He happily did as he was ordered, carefully easing his way through the throngs of guests. His polite smile was still firmly in place as he hunted for a place, any place, that was a little quieter – somewhere he could nurse his growing headache. The crowd looked a little thinner over the far side of the room... He had barely crossed halfway however, before he was halted by a fair-haired figure.

"Here," Lucius said, placing a drink in his hand. "You look like you need it."

"Thanks," he murmured, taking a sip. "Though a charm against headaches would probably be better."

"Ah. The noise is getting to you, I take it?"

"Yeah..."

With a quick swish and a tap of his wand against his forehead, Lucius had banished the pain. Regulus blinked.

"Thank you. You'll have to teach me that one."

"Anytime, my boy. Anytime. So... How's Hogwarts going?"

"Fine, thanks. How's life outside Hogwarts?"

Their conversation drifted along for a time in mere idle chitchat, nothing of any particular importance being discussed. It was comfortable and easy.

"Where's Sirius tonight?" Lucius suddenly asked him.

"Sirius?" Regulus shrugged. Thoughts of his brother were not so comfortable. "In his room I should think." He frowned as a sly smile slid over Malfoy's face, but his attention was jerked away a second later as a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Hmm, maybe we ought to pay him a little visit at some point," Bellatrix's husky voice said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see two of his cousins standing there.

"Wish him a Happy New Year," Narcissa added, simpering at Lucius.

"Yes. I was just thinking the same thing myself," the sleek, blond-haired man replied. "He's always... fun to visit, isn't he. When he's not got those friends of his with him, anyway."

Regulus smiled at his cousins, but he couldn't help but feel a certain sense of unease. He had no illusions as to what their 'visit' to Sirius would entail. He had seen such encounters, and taken part in such encounters, too many times in the past. At the best, Sirius wouldn't get away without at least a few nasty bruises. At the worst... With the state Sirius was in now... No. He didn't want to think about it.

That charm of Lucius' didn't work very well. His headache was starting to come back.

For the next several long minutes he managed to tune out his companions' conversation as his gaze drifted over the many pure-blooded witches and wizards who filled the room. Over there were the Rookwoods, and the Macnairs. There were the Snapes and the Goyles. Only those of the purest of blood could expect to receive an invitation to an event held by the Blacks. The Crabbes were here. As too were the Averys and the Dolohovs...

"Is that who I think it is?" Regulus suddenly exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock as he gazed at the tall, elegant figure standing beside his father.

Lucius glanced calmly over. "If you're thinking that it's our lord, then you'd be right."

"'**_Our'_** lord?" Regulus blinked. So Lucius was a Death Eater, one of the so-called 'Knights of Walpurgis'... He probably should have guessed.

"Yes, 'our' lord. Is he yours as well, Regulus? Will you be joining us soon?"

"Um... Of course..." Of course. What choice did he have in the matter? There wasn't anything else he could do. He'd never been brave, not like Sirius – but then, look where being brave had gotten his brother! And besides, he did believe that the Dark Lord was right. Mudbloods weakened the wizarding community. Mother had always told him the same thing and, despite what Sirius said, their mother was right. That was what he believed.

Mother would expect him to join the Death Eaters. He couldn't really do anything else...

He'd never been reckless like Sirius either.

"Come on," Bellatrix suddenly said, "I'm getting bored. Let's go and pay that visit to Sirius."

"Splendid idea," Lucius drawled, his arm snaking around Narcissa's waist. "Are you coming, Reg?"

"Er..." No. Very definitely, no – but how could he tell them that? "I can't really leave here yet. Mother would skin me alive." It was true enough, though he was pretty sure she wouldn't notice his absence tonight. He really wasn't in the mood for tormenting his brother though.

"Come on, Reg! She won't notice you gone," Bella protested, echoing his thoughts.

"Sorry guys. Maybe next time. Mother's been in too much of a temper lately for me to risk it."

Rolling her eyes Bellatrix turned and stalked away through the crowd. Lucius and Narcissa languidly followed behind her, leaving Regulus alone again. Rubbing at his temples he scanned the room, his eyes automatically searching out Voldemort's dominating figure. He was just in time to see the Dark Lord, accompanied by his father, leave the room. He blinked, staring after the pair with a frown. What was going on? Where were they going? And why was his father meeting with Voldemort? He wasn't a Death Eater as well was he?

A handful of minutes later Lucius and his cousins passed through the same doorway, turning his thoughts inevitably back to his brother. Merlin only knew what sort of a state he would be in after his cousins had finished with him. As if Father's attentions hadn't been bad enough... What if Father was also going to 'visit' Sirius – and was taking Voldemort with him? No... No, he wouldn't. Such things as this were kept in the family... Sirius' punishment was a family matter...

"Regulus! What are you doing?" His mother's voice jerked him sharply back to reality. "I thought I told you to mingle," she snapped, advancing on him, "not just stand there looking like an imbecile!"

"Sorry Mother. I was..."

"I don't care what you were doing. You have to give out a good impression tonight. You have to repair the damage that that blood-traitor has done to our Name – and standing there gawping is not doing so! Now," she instructed, "go and talk to Severus," she ordered. "The poor boy has been standing there on his own all evening..."

"But, Mother..."

"No 'but's, Regulus. You're getting as bad as that brother of yours lately and I will **_not_** be having that!"

"Yes, Mother," he sighed.

"Well? Go on then!"

"Yes, Mother."

To say that he dragged his feet as he crossed the room to the other Slytherin's side would be an understatement. He could feel his mother's eyes upon his back practically the entire way, almost daring him to disobey her. He wouldn't do so. He didn't dare. After all - Mother's orders were Mother's orders.

Although he had never hated Severus Snape in the same way Sirius did, he had never been particularly fond of the older boy. He didn't think **_anyone_** actually liked Snape. Other than Father, of course. He was a loner, with a nasty temper that alienated even his housemates. That was not to say that the other Slytherins ever condoned the treatment he received from a certain group of Gryffindors, but many did feel that he deserved it. Regulus... Regulus had had to listen to his father extolling the greasy-haired boy's virtues far too many times, usually to either his or Sirius' detriment, to have any fondness for him.

"Severus," he greeted him.

Dark eyes flicked briefly towards him before turning back to their surveillance of the room.

"Regulus."

Silence fell between them. Regulus stood, fidgeting nervously, his eyes straying to where his mother stood conversing with the elderly Eldiva Rookwood. He couldn't really desert the other boy yet. She would not be happy.

"Um... How are you enjoying the party?"

"Its fine."

Silence.

Regulus was struggling to find something else to ask - something that wouldn't end in a one or two-word answer - when Severus' voice broke into his thoughts with a question that instantly touched on a nerve. "Where's that brother of your's tonight?"

"What is it with everyone lately?" Regulus snapped, his irritation, mingling with his ambivalent feelings towards his Gryffindor brother, getting the better of him. "That's all anyone seems to ask me! Do you want to go and pay him a 'visit', as well, now that he can't fight back?"

"No," Snape sneered. "I'm quite happy to stay away from him, thanks."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Quite simply **_so_** I can stay away from him. Why don't you go and bother someone else?" the older boy asked. "You obviously don't want to be talking to me any more than I want to be talking to you."

"Believe me, I would if I could! Mother's orders."

Snape rolled his eyes and, with another sneer, turned and swept away through the crowd.

Oops. He probably shouldn't have said that. With a quick nervous glance over towards his mother Regulus hurried after Snape's billowing robes.

"Hey! Regulus!"

He halted, glancing around in surprise, to see Lucius and his cousins – Bellatrix looking in a foul temper – approaching him through the crowd.

"What are you guys doing back so soon," he asked.

"He's not in there," Bella growled.

"What?"

"Your brother. He wasn't in his room," Lucius qualified. "That place really is a pigsty isn't it?"

"The house-elves don't go in there," he explained, his mind fixed on Bella's words. If he wasn't in his room, then where was he? "He hasn't really been in a decent state to clean it himself." He couldn't get out on his own – which meant that Father must have had something to do with it. And Father was with Voldemort...

"Oh? Why is that?"

"What? Oh. He, um, annoyed Father."

"Ah..."

Lucius looked like he was about to say more, but was interrupted by Bellatrix.

"Rodolphus is here!" she exclaimed. "Finally." Without another word she was gone.

"Reg... are you alright?" Narcissa enquired, her large eyes worried as she lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. Lucius, he saw, had drifted off to one side, engaged in conversation with one of the many young Avery sons at the party. "You've been miles away all night? This isn't like you at all. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong at all!" he protested. "I'm just really tired, is all. Mother's been making me work like a house-elf, you know, in preparation for this. I think she's determined to give out a good impression. I think she's a bit worried about what Sirius has been doing to our good name..."

"Sirius? Why? What has he been doing now?"

He sighed. "Don't ask. It's more what **_hasn't_** he been doing."

"That bad?"

"Worse." He really didn't want to talk about his brother. In an attempt to change the subject he asked the first question that entered his head. "Is Andromeda not here this year?"

"Are you out of your mind? Not since she married that mudblood! She won't be showing her face in polite society again... And have you heard?" she continued. "She's pregnant! Merlin only knows what the spawn will be like with **_that_** for a father." Narcissa paused before adding, "Mother's been talking about blasting her off the family tree."

Regulus avoided his cousin's eyes as he informed her, "Sirius already has been, I think."

"Oh... He must have **_really_** annoyed your mother then."

"Yeah." He rubbed at his temples. His headache had returned full force. "Look, Cissa, I'm gonna go and find somewhere quiet. I have a horrible headache. Could you make some sort of excuse for me if Mother asks...?"

"Sure thing, Reg..."

A lie down would probably be the best thing for it, he thought, slipping out of the crowded chamber. His room should be nice and quiet. Yeah, a lie down and a pain-killing potion should do the job – hopefully better than Lucius' charm... With that thought in mind, he headed upstairs.

* * *

"I apologise, my Lord, that I could not arrange a meeting before tonight," Arcturus said as he led Voldemort up the final flight of stairs. "I ran into a few... obstacles. There was an incident in my workshop last week which destroyed much of my work."

"Not so much that you have nothing left to show me, I hope."

"Oh no," he said, pushing open the door to the room he had ordered Kreacher to place Sirius in, "I have **_plenty_** still to show you." He carefully set his case of potions down on the dresser as his gaze fell on the wide-eyed face of his son.

His son! He stared bitterly down at the bedraggled boy huddled against the wall.

He had always been such a disappointment, he thought. Even as a child he had rarely behaved in the way his heir should. He had never been obedient. Regulus had at least tried, but had Sirius? No!

He moved further into the room, a scornful smile of satisfaction curving his lips as a small whimper of fear escaped the boy.

Back then, of course, he hadn't disputed their beliefs; hadn't disputed the supremacy of the purebloods – that was before the days of his spouting of his Gryffindor, muggle-loving, blood-traitor nonsense. But he had never been willing to follow instructions. He had never had the right manner for the first-born son of the Black family.

His heir should have been calm and poised, polite and dignified. Sirius, however, had never been any of these things. He should have always given out a good impression for their family, showed that the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black was still one of the greatest of the wizarding world. Sirius had never done that. He had been loud and disorderly, had run when he should have walked, dawdled when he should have hurried. He had never been able to remain neat for longer than five minutes. His had been both defiant and, regularly, outright disobedient. All of this had simply been compounded with his sorting into Gryffindor.

His disobedience would no longer be tolerated. The boy was a disappointment that would no longer be tolerated.

"What is the meaning of this, Black?" Voldemort's sharp voice demanded from beside him.

"The meaning? I am simply about to demonstrate the uses of my potions..."

"And the boy?"

"The boy is going to... help me. Aren't you, Sirius?"

"Father... Please... I'm sorry. I won't..."

"Silence! You see, my Lord," he said, calmly turning away from Sirius' to face Voldemort's cold face, "it is because of Sirius here that I do not have more to show you."

"I had heard that you had a son who had been sorted into Gryffindor. This is him, yes?"

"It is," he answered, casting a distasteful look at the boy. "It seems that he discovered the nature of my work just before Christmas and took it into his head to engage in a little sabotage. Although overall his actions proved to be a failure, he did destroy a lot. Of both my potions and my notes."

Offering Slytherin's heir a seat, he crossed back to his case of potions and lifted the first large vial free. A few moments later he had measured a careful dose into a goblet, which he offered to Sirius to drink.

"Please... Father..."

"Just drink it, Boy," he snarled, fixing a cold glare on the brat. "This can get far worse if you don't do as I say."

"Please..."

This was starting to get annoying.

A glare was all it took. With unsteady hands Sirius accepted the goblet, causing Arcturus to smirk in satisfaction. It seemed the brat was finally learning...

"Unfortunately," he said, his eyes not leaving his son's face as the boy reluctantly lifted the goblet, "– one of the few negative aspects of this potion – even diluted, both its odour and taste remain strong and fairly distinctive, making it practically impossible to use clandestinely. The majority of potions in the range are odourless, and most are also either fully tasteless or with only a slight after-taste, which can be easily masked by a carrier with a strong flavour itself."

With a whine of defeat, that sent a thrill of sheer power flowing through Arcturus' chest, Sirius dropped the now empty goblet, with a dull thump, to the carpeted floor. The boy's eyes then closed as he slumped, shuddering, back against the wall. Arcturus avidly watched.

"The effects of this potion are three-fold," he told the Dark Lord, his eyes not leaving Sirius. "Paralysis, pain and control, appearing at differing levels, depending on the dosage. I have given 30 drops, which gives, as I see it, the most interesting results. It takes between five and ten minutes to take effect - which means that it should, soon, be taking hold of him. After this time the subject will be held in a form of paralysis, accompanied by an agonising pain – not quite as effective as Crucio, but more than enough to gain obedience from anyone. The subject is only able to break the paralysis by the following of instructions spoken by any person present..."

He paused in his narrative, his eyes narrowing and his lips curving into a satisfied smile, as the boy's small, helpless movements suddenly halted. He sat now, wrapped in unnatural stillness, at his feet.

"Ah! See how he is no longer able to move? The pain which accompanies the paralysis will grow steadily worse as he fails to follow any instruction – or, in this case, as no instructions are there for him to follow." He didn't turn to look as footsteps sounded behind him. "It is only when he is doing as ordered that the pain is halted."

"Hmm – very interesting... So, he will follow **_any_** instructions?"

"Any at all spoken within his hearing. It may take a little while, but the pain will continue to increase until he does as he is told."

He glanced over at the man who stood now beside him, gazing at Sirius with an eagerly cruel expression.

"Stand," the Dark Lord ordered.

The boy twitched and, slowly, unsteadily, pushed himself to his feet. The instant he stood before them, ice seemed to again sheathe his form as the paralysis regained its hold, freezing him in place. His eyes remained closed, as they had been before the potion had taken effect.

"Open your eyes," Arcturus said.

The heavy lids lifted and the stormy grey depths, looking abnormally large in their sunken, discoloured sockets, were revealed – reflecting the agony that the boy obviously felt within.

"On your knees," Voldemort hissed. "Kneel before your Lord." This time the boy took longer to obey, obviously fighting against the command, but eventually he dropped to his knees before Voldemort, his head bowed in submission.

Casting a disdainful glance at Sirius' kneeling form, Arcturus returned to his description. "Any dosage of less than twenty-five drops will cause only paralysis – there is no element of control. If more than thirty-five drops are given the subject loses the ability to control the actions of his body. He is still consciously present, but merely as a spark of self trapped within his mind. His actions are controlled by spoken orders. Any attempt by the subject to control himself results in severe pain. With more than forty drops that spark of self vanishes. The body becomes a – seemingly conscious – husk, whose actions are completely controlled by an outside force. The subject will have no memory of anything that he has been forced to do."

"This boy seems to have an unusual number of enemies present within this house."

"What?" Arcturus frowned, glancing at Voldemort in confusion. The other man's eyes held a slightly glazed look; the irises, Arcturus saw with a slight shudder, were tinted an unnatural, blood red.

"Lucius Malfoy, and Bellatrix and Narcissa Black." The Dark Lords eyes suddenly refocused, locking upon Sirius' frozen form. "What is it about him that makes so many wish to..." and the inhuman eyes shifted to lock onto his, boring straight through into his mind, "**_control_** him."

"His defiance," Arcturus automatically answered, unable to prevent the words from escaping his mouth. "He needs to be shown just who is in control."

"Ah..."

The eye contact was broken as Voldemort turned to gaze speculatively at Sirius once more and Arcturus blinked. Why had he said that? And... And just what had the other man meant about his nieces and Malfoy?

"Malfoy and your nieces just passed outside the room," Voldemort answered the unspoken question. "They had planned some rather interesting diversions involving this young man. They were all feeling rather disappointed that they had been unable to find him."

"What...? How do you...?"

"Do not underestimate me, Black. I am more powerful than you could imagine."

Voldemort continued to gaze down at Sirius' still kneeling form, an incalculable expression upon his face. Long, thin fingers snaked out to twine into the tangled strands of black hair, forcing the boy's head up.

"Look at me, Boy!" he ordered, and the pain filled eyes reluctantly rose to the Dark Lord's face. "Yes..." Voldemort murmured, barely loud enough for Arcturus to make out the words. "Yes. I can see why so many people wish to possess him. Such defiance... And he is strong!" he added a moment later, his eyes, glistening again with a blood-red sheen, widening slightly. "How unexpected..." A cold smile curved the man's mouth. "How enticing... Give him to me."

It took a moment for Arcturus to even realise that the Dark Lord's words, his request, was directed towards him. No. It wasn't a request. His order.

"No."

Voldemort, it seemed, had not expected a refusal. His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he turned to face him, releasing his grip on Sirius. But... Arcturus was not about to give the boy up – not now he finally had him under his power. He had had to put up with the brat's disobedience for far too long. He now had a chance to show him just who was in control.

That didn't help to still the shiver of fear that ran down his spine as he faced Voldemort's wrath, however.

"You **_dare_** to defy me!"

"I do. I am not one of your Death Eaters. He is mine."

He forced himself not to flinch at the flash of fury that suddenly contorted Voldemort's face.

"I could easily take him from you."

"I am sure that you could – but to what purpose? As 'enticing' as he may be, he is nothing but a useless whelp." He carefully kept his voice calm and level – the voice of the logical Potions Master. "All you would gain from such a course of action would be my enmity. Surely you would be better to keep me, and my potions, allied, willingly, to your cause."

Before the Dark Lord could say anything in answer Arcturus calmly returned his gaze to Sirius.

"The effects of this dosage of the potion can last anywhere between fifteen minutes and half an hour, depending upon the subject," he returned to his recital. He frowned as a shiver suddenly wracked his son's body. "As you can see, they are now beginning to wear off. I am currently working upon ways of extending it. The effects of a larger dosage, complete control, last a little longer – up to forty-five minutes."

He glanced at the Dark Lord's face. The fury had faded, to be replaced by a strange, unreadable expression that left Arcturus feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

"One of the advantages of this potion," he continued, "is that it can be used in conjunction with any of the other potions within this range, causing a variety of interesting effects which I will explain later."

A faint, dog-like whine drew his attention back to his son as the boy crumpled again to the floor, curling onto his side. He turned and lifted the next vial from the case. This time he didn't bother with placing the substance into a goblet – it took little enough to work, after-all – and simply knelt down and grasped Sirius' chin, forcing his mouth open. Before the boy could gather the strength to resist, he poured a small drop onto his tongue.

Calming rising to his feet he returned the vial to its place, and found Voldemort still gazing at him.

"It is not often that you find someone willing to use their own son in such a way," the Dark Lord said softly. "I am... impressed. You would do well as one of my Death Eaters, Black."

In spite of himself, Arcturus felt a thrill of pride run through him at Voldemort's words. Everyone knew that the Dark Lord didn't hand out praise often. Even so, he merely shrugged. To show that he was flattered by the man's praise was beneath the dignity of the head of the House of Black.

"This is no longer a son of mine," he said, casting a cold glare at the boy's supine form. "A Gryffindor brat, nothing more. He has already been wiped off the family tree. As for becoming a Death Eater," he continued, "I am too old for such things. Such roles are for the younger generation to take up. I have told you this before. However, I know that Regulus, in a year or so, will be happy to stand at your side. And he shall have my blessing.

"Now this next potion is another which can be used to control the subject – this time in a similar manner to the _Imperio_. It leaves the person's mind completely open to any mental attacks..."

* * *

__

Regulus lay on his bed, his head buried beneath his pillows. Not that they helped much. He could still hear... everything... He would probably be better to just go back to the party. For a little while his room had provided the desired sanctum, a respite that allowed the dose of potion to work at easing the throbbing of his head – but it hadn't lasted. As had happened so many times over the past week he had, yet again, been awoken from a refreshing sleep by the sounds of his brother's screams. So much for his room being quiet!

He shuddered as yet another broken cry was torn from Sirius, carrying easily to his ears from the lower floor. How much longer could they keep it up for? It had to stop soon! At first, last week, he had found this whole thing entertaining. That had long since passed. All he knew now was that the tortured sounds continued to echo in his ears long after they had truly faded. He couldn't stand it any longer.

Sirius' screams could probably by now be heard by everyone at the party – not that hearing screams would really be all that odd to any of them... But it was a bad sign. No matter what Sirius had been stupid enough to do, his punishment would ordinarily have stayed within the family. For Father not only to have neglected to put silencing charms around the room when he had a house full of non-family guests, but also, or so Regulus now had to presume, to have taken Voldemort with him... It showed that Sirius was no longer seen as part of the family. Which meant that father's treatment of him had gone beyond mere punishment.

Regulus wasn't entirely sure just how much more his older brother would be able to take. Not without breaking completely. He didn't want to see him break. Not really. Sirius might have been an annoying prat, he might have been a blood-traitor and a hot-headed idiot, but... he was his brother. No matter just how much he liked to see him in trouble, he **_didn't_** want to see him broken completely.

He didn't want to see him dead.

That was what Sirius was going to be if he didn't get away soon. Dead. It had gone **_far_** past mere punishment. This was pure cold-hearted malice.

But there wasn't really much that he could do about it, was there?

He buried his head beneath his pillows and struggled to block out the broken sounds. They had to end soon. They had to!

He was beginning to consider giving up and heading back to the party – his headache was mostly gone now anyway – when the cries began to slowly dwindle. Finally they fell completely silent, and he gave a sigh of relief.

He was just beginning to drift into a light sleep when shuffling, uneven footsteps on the stairs outside his room caused him to suddenly start in surprise. The soft muttering of a house-elf's high-pitched voice quickly told him just who was outside, but it was Kreacher's barely distinguishable words, and the thumping of something heavy striking against the steps, that drew him from his bed and over to crack open the door. He caught a brief glimpse of an unconscious, bedraggled Sirius being dragged along behind the house-elf before the pair moved out of sight.

Regulus closed his door and moved slowly over to perch on the chair by his desk, his elbows on the polished wood while his head rested in his hands.

What was he going to do? He couldn't leave him there, suffering as he was. He just couldn't. But... what could **_he_** do? Sirius had to get away, but it would be practically suicidal for him to help. Father's attention was unpleasant enough at the best of times. To have to face him when he was angry... That was something that Regulus had always done his best to avoid. Even Sirius had always done his best to avoid that.

No! He had to do something! If possible before his cousins and Lucius could get to his brother. Merlin only knew what lengths they would go to if they found Sirius in his current state. Cissa on her own wouldn't be too bad, but Bella – she had always delighted in tormenting Sirius. And Lucius... Everyone knew how much Lucius hated him. Sirius and his friends had played a few too many embarrassing pranks on the older boy before he had left Hogwarts three years ago, and Lucius was notorious for holding a grudge.

He had to try.

He waited for Kreacher to return downstairs before he left his room. It was late now. He hoped Mother hadn't noticed his absence from the party. He also hoped Narcissa had been able to think up a decent excuse if she had – he greatly doubted that saying that he'd had a headache would be a good enough excuse for escaping early. Not for Mother.

He could hardly believe he was actually doing this!

With his heart thudding almost painfully in his chest he padded up the final flight of narrow stairs. These, unlike those of the rest of the house, were ill lit and dingy. The occupants of the portraits were all absent. It felt deserted and unused, but Regulus knew only too well that that was not so. Drawing a deep breath as he reached the small landing at the top, he slowly pushed open the door to his brother's room.

When Lucius had described the place as a 'pig-sty' it had been one of the biggest understatements of the decade.

The room was filthy. No house-elf had cleaned in there recently. Every surface was grimy and dust-covered. The number of items within the room that bore what looked unnervingly like dried blood was frankly terrifying. The floor... The carpet, Regulus believed, had once been green, the same as that in his room. It was practically impossible to tell for certain any more. Beneath the ingrained dirt and the stains of blood and sick – and quite possibly other substances that he didn't particularly want to think about – the carpet could have been any colour at all. On the far side of the room was his brother's bed, with its crumpled, filthy sheets and tangled blankets showed clear evidence of current events.

In the centre of the room sprawled Sirius' unconscious form. He had, by the look of it, tried to make his way back to his bed, only for his body to give up the struggle barely halfway there. The image that was created was one that Regulus was quite certain would stay burned on his mind for many years to come. His brother – annoying, arrogant, headstrong Gryffindor, but his brother nonetheless – who had always seemed so strong... so **_alive_**, now held the appearance of a broken, discarded wreck.

He was thin – far thinner than Regulus had ever before seen him – and his skin looked pasty and pale, marred by bruises and dried blood. His black hair, which he usually took great care over, was a tangled, unwashed mess, hanging in rats-tails about his face. He wasn't even going to **_start_** cataloguing the other boy's injuries. He had thought that he had looked bad when he saw him yesterday...

Casting a quick, nervous glance down the stairway, Regulus slowly entered the room, his steps hesitant as he approached his brother's side. He dropped to his knees and reached out a tentative hand to touch the older boy's shoulder.

Sirius' eyes flashed open - a wild, frantic look in their depths as he drew away.

"No! Please... no... Leave me 'lone..."

"Er... Sirius. It's me – um, Regulus. I'm... er... I'm not gonna hurt you. Ssh. I'm gonna help you get out."

The wild look slowly faded as Sirius' eyes focused on him, to be replaced by a dull confusion.

"Reg..." the older boy croaked. "Wha's goin' on...? Why...?"

Why? Regulus grimaced. He wasn't really sure of that himself. Why was he doing this? It was stupid. It was practically suicidal! If Father found out... He shivered. He didn't even want to consider that possibility. Not even being in Mother's favour would be enough to protect him from the consequences. He ought to just leave Sirius... He had gotten himself into this mess. He ought to just leave him to get himself out of it. But he couldn't do that. He just wasn't entirely certain **_why _**that was so.

Luckily Sirius didn't seem to really need an answer. His eyes had closed again. The sheer, unbounded levels of pain and exhaustion that consumed him were starkly visible on his haggard face.

There was no way Sirius was going to be able to get out of the house – not in the state he was in. Regulus frowned. There had to be something he could do, some spell he could cast... But what? He wracked his brain, chewing on his lower lip as he tried to find a spell that would help. There had to be **_something_**!

Unfortunately, if there was, he couldn't remember it.

Okay... so maybe not a spell... What about a potion?

What about Pepperup?

He knew they had some of that in. He'd seen it in the medicine cabinet when he'd been getting his headache cure earlier. He wasn't entirely certain that it would work – it was meant to cure people with colds, after-all – but hopefully, if nothing else, it would give Sirius enough of an energy burst to get him out of the house. Hopefully.

He swiftly rose to his feet and left the room.

A few minutes later he was standing in the main bathroom of the house, rifling through the many jars and vials that filled the medical cupboard. One of the good things about having a Potion Master for a father – they always had a good range of medical supplies in. His eyes quickly scanned over the many labels, all written in Father's cramped hand. Skele-gro, burn heal paste, wound-cleaning potion. Arrgh – where was it?

Ah ha! There it was. Finally! Pepperup. Extra strong – yeah, that'd be good. With a quick glance behind him he pocketed the large jar and hurried back up the stairs to his brother's attic room.

Sirius lay sprawled exactly as he had left him: his mind sunk into an insensible stupor; his body's only movement that caused by his shivers. Moving quickly over the intervening distance, Regulus returned to the older boy's side, dropping to his knees beside him.

"Sirius? Siri? I've got something to make you better." He nudged his brother's shoulder, but his only response was a pained groan and an unintelligible murmur. "Sirius, wake up!"

Frowning, he removed the bulky jar from his pocket, placing it on the floor, and, ignoring the groans of pain that his actions caused, lifted Sirius into a seated position, supporting his upper body against his own. If he could get some of the potion into the other boy, maybe he would wake up... He removed the stopper and lifted the bottle to Sirius' mouth.

The instant the glass touched his lips Sirius jerked awake, causing the potion to spill down his chin and the front of jumper. With a wordless cry he pulled himself free of Regulus' arms, scrambling away, his head shaking. He backed himself against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest, his thin body shaking.

"Sirius?" Regulus said softly, but he got no further as Sirius' rough voice interrupted him.

"No! Not again... Please... I'm sorry... Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry..."

Regulus edged closer. "Come on, Sirius – you've got to drink this!"

But Sirius merely flinched away. Regulus drew a deep breath, forcing himself to some semblance of patience as he gazed at Sirius' trembling form. He could tell that his brother was not seeing him. The other boy's eyes were unfocused and distant, staring straight through Regulus, fixed on something that only he could see. It didn't take a genius to figure out just what it was that Sirius was seeing – their father. His brother had been through too much in the past week to be able to distinguish between the abuse that he had been forced to endure and a helping hand.

He had to calm him down. He had to get him to understand what was really happening... and he had to do it quickly! The longer this took, the greater the chance of interruption. Carefully placing the potion on the floor, Regulus reached out a hand to touch Sirius' shoulder. His brother recoiled violently away and he quickly lowered the hand and instead began softly talking, his eyes locked onto the older boy's.

"Sirius, you're alright. Father's not here. It's Regulus and I'm trying to help you... Sirius! Look at me! Please. I'm here to help you get out of here. Fathers not here."

Slowly the grey eyes came into focus on his own; confusion in their depths as Sirius blinked groggily.

"Reg'lus...?" He slurred. "What're you...? Wha's hap'nin'...?

"Thank Merlin! Sirius – you've got to drink this for me," he explained, lifting the bottle from the floor. "It'll make you feel better." He hoped. He couldn't be entirely sure, but... he hoped.

"No! Don' wanna..." the older boy said, weakly pushing his hand away. Sirius' eyes were now fixed anxiously on the dark glass of the bottle he held. He regarded it in the way many would regard a snake – with fear and distrust clearly evident in his gaze.

"This will help you. Not like Father's... It will give you some strength. Hopefully enough to escape. And it should clear your mind a little. Sirius please. Drink it. I will make you, if I have to. Don't make me have to."

Sirius' eyes slowly shifted back up to meet his own and Regulus could clearly see the struggle that the other boy was undergoing. Finally, though, he nodded and, with a sigh of relief, Regulus lifted the bottle so his brother could drink.

A moment later steam was pouring out of Sirius' ears.

"Well?"

"You gave me Pepperup."

"Er... yeah. Are you feeling any better?" Colour was slowly returning to his brother's pale face.

"A little... You know I hate Pepperup."

"Well its obviously helped you, so shut up!"

Surprisingly Sirius actually obeyed and silence fell between them, only broken when Regulus finally muttered, "Come on. Let's get you out of here."

"Regulus... er...thank you. But... why?"

Regulus merely shrugged, avoiding his brother's pain-filled eyes as he helped him to his feet. He still wasn't entirely certain of the answer to that question himself. Eventually he shrugged again and gave the simplest answer. "Because you're my brother. You know, 'blood is thicker than water', and all that shit." He paused. "This doesn't mean we're friends."

"Oh."

There was no way he could ever be anything even vaguely resembling a friend to his brother. Sirius would be best to stay away from the entire family after this, and Regulus would be best to never even think about speaking to him. If his parents ever heard that he had any sort of friendly contact – and they would learn, there was no doubt about that – with him, their reaction would not be pleasant. Besides... soon he would become a Death Eater, whilst Sirius... Sirius, foolish Gryffindor that he was, would undoubtedly choose the side of the muggle-loving Dumbledore. Friendship could never be an option.

But that was all in the future. Right now he had to think about getting Sirius out of here before anyone else came looking for him.

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A/N – Right... Um... I'm not entirely certain how I feel about this Chapter – or, more importantly, the first section of it. Could you guys please let me knew what you think, because I'm quite tempted to just remove it? The first section that is, not the entire thing. The chapter would still be long enough (in case you were wondering it actually managed to get up to 7000 words!) and I'm not sure whether it actually adds anything to the story. Also, what do you all think about the change in viewpoint? I tried originally to write it from Sirius' as I usually do, and it just wasn't working. Then I got started with Regulus and Arcturus, and they just wouldn't shut up! Next chapter will be back to Sirius.

Please do leave me a review. They are greatly appreciated. Thanks.

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Replies to Reviews – for both chapters 11 and 12. If you reviewed 12 the reply will be to that review. If you only reviewed 11 it will be to that one. I hope I haven't missed anyone out.

**Allacaya** – I'm glad you like the dedication. I was glad it was you. I had decided beforehand that I was going to dedicate a chapter to my 50th reviewer and I always love getting your reviews. No, not writes block, just no time to write – or, at least, write up. I write odd, random scenes in my notepad all the time, but I need a nice stretch of time sat at the computer to link it all together into a chapter. I was thinking about you when I wrote that scene with his parents arguing – though it did actually develop out of a snippit that I'd planned to include in Ch7. He was going to overhear a similar 'discussion' about what ought to be done with him while he was delirious. It didn't really fit in that chapter though. Yeah, you're right, Kreacher did do that on purpose with the door. He's a very nasty little specimen. Um... sorry you had to wait longer than I said...

**Phinea­** – Er... Thanks, though I think I'm glad I'm not anywhere near you. (I hope!) Despair is good, isn't it? I'm glad you liked the suicide moment. That was actually one of the first bits of this I actually wrote! Which is rather scary when I think about it... Sorry about the wait – both for the last chapter and this one.

**Lhune** – Um, I'm afraid the crossed fingers didn't seem to work. Ah well – here's a chapter for you. As for what his father and Voldemort are up to... I was quite surprised that no one at all remembered that letter Sirius read back in Ch2: _If it is possible I shall call upon you before the New Year and will hopefully be leaving with samples._ Due to Sirius' actions the lovely Arcturus wasn't ready **_before_** New Year... I've been trying very hard to keep Sirius in line with the character JKR created, and bravery **_is_** a part of his nature. As we see in the books, it takes an awful lot to completely break him – not even Azkaban does that – though he will come incredibly close to it in the course of these stories... No, I didn't like **_that_** part of the books either. In fact, I like to forget that it ever happened. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter as well.

**Celebrean** – I'm really sorry about the lack of an update. I was supposed to have had two days off in the week after I last posted, which was why I said I'd be able to post again the following Sunday. As it was, I didn't actually have any. I've been working over 50 hours a week for the past month with only the odd day off every once in a while – and most of that day I spend sleeping, shopping and catching up on the house-work. Again, I'm **_really_** sorry. Believe me, it's probably been as hellish for me to not be able to write, as it's been for you not to be able to read the next chapter! If not worse...

**Linker27­** – I thought you might like to know that by the time I got the chapter actually up and everything it was about 1:55, maybe even close to 2:00 – I'm a dreadful fiddler. I'll go through a chapter 20 odd times, making little changes. Anyway, that means you read it in about 10-15 minutes after I posted! I'm sorry this chapter wasn't on time. There was absolutely no way it could have been on time, as it turned out. Sorry.

**Willow Ann Rover** – Sorry for scaring you. This chapter isn't scary. I'm not sure **_what_** this chapter is, other than long...

**Marauding-siriusly** – Er... sorry about the cliffie. Thanks for the review. I hope you liked this chapter as well.

**Gohan Hugger** – Thanks for your review. I'm glad you liked it.

**Sun Kissed Rose** – Thanks for you're review. I'm glad you liked the chapter so much. I hope you found this one okay... As I mentioned in my author's note, I'm not so sure about parts of it. Anyway, he's still alive, as you see. Just as, yes, he's still alive today. I agree. Denial is a very powerful thing. That part of the book didn't happen. Or, if it did, I have my own little interpretation on what happened that may, someday, be written.

**Dark Nasty Angel** – Thanks. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

**Dumbo-Dolly** – Thanks for your reviews, and for putting me on your favourites list. Here's your update. I'm sorry about the wait...

**Drew Hanson** – Sorry! He's your update. I hope you enjoy it. Wow – you think it's addictive. Thanks!

**Jan** – Thanks for your reviews! Here's your update. Don't worry, I've not given up on it yet!

**Silberfell** – Um, yeah – I do enjoy tormenting him. I sometimes think that maybe I'm a little odd... I am sorry about tormenting you though. I hadn't meant to leave updating so long.

**Kurtcobain4eva** – I was beginning to think you'd stopped reading! I'm glad you hadn't. You were my first ever reviewer after all. Here's your update.

**DarkHiei** – Sorry about the wait. As I said in my author's note, life went insane. Um... thanks. I'm definitely not a child. 25 today, in fact. Glad you're enjoying it.

**EsCaper** – I found your review very heartening. You actually came looking for my fic! Wow. Thanks. As for wondering whether enjoying the angst is 'sick'... Um... if it is, then what does that make me for enjoying writing it so much? Okay, so you don't have to answer that...

**Ramis Hunroll** – Thanks for your review. He will get back to Hogwarts eventually...

**Maria** – Thanks for your review and please do review again. I don't bite. I have to admit that I'm actually a dreadful lurker myself. I'd been reading fanfic for years before I ever actually left a review, and even now I have to really force myself to leave them. I'm honoured that you chose me to leave your first review on! Anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying it and I'm sorry about the lengthening waits between updates. Hopefully our management will soon decide to employ a few new people and I can start having my days off again. Then I can get back to my weekly updates.

**Leslie Lady of Light** – Thanks for your review

**Mily** – I'm glad you liked the bit with Regulus in Ch 11 – it was meant to lead up to what happens in this chapter. I hope you still liked the way I presented him here. I'm kind of thinking of giving up on Immeritus. You're the only person who ever seems to take any real interest in it there...

**WEAT-BIX** – Thanks for your review. No, I agree – Sirius torture is great. I happen to think that there's not enough of it. Which is why I write it. I'm glad you liked my portrayal of Regulus. What did you think of him in this chapter?

**Kangaroo** – I'm glad you're enjoying the story. There will be another two following which deal with the... um... aftermath of this story. There will be a 'big fluffy marauder ending' but it won't be coming for a while I'm afraid. Thanks for your review.

**Cicci Green** – thanks for your review. As you've probably figured after this chapter, his father's name is Arcturus – which, along with Regulus and Spica, is one of the 'three bright stars of spring'. It's in the constellation Bootes, if you care to know, whilst Spica (Sirius' mother's name) is in Virgo, and Regulus is in Leo. The three form a right angle triangle. Um... I think I'll shut up now... I hope you still like my presentation of Regulus.

**Prongs** – Thanks for your review. Um... the comfort will come eventually. There should only be three or four more chapters of **_this_** story, but I can't really say what will be coming after that...

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I can't believe that I've just spent most of my birthday sat at my computer. The only people I've properly spoken to are my sister and my nephew, and that's only because I share a house with them. Does that make me really pathetic...? I think it does. I need to get myself a life, don't I? Ah well.

Bye-de-byes

Misthea


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer - they're still not mine.

A/N - this chapter is dedicated to Drew-Hanson, my 100th reviewer. Thank you very, very much.

This chapter has actually been pretty much ready for posting now for nearly a week. First I lost my internet connection and then, when I finally get it back, FFnetis down. I'm jinxed! Anyway, here it is. Finally.Enjoy.

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Chapter Fourteen

Of all the people who he might have vaguely expected… hoped… to help him out, Regulus had been as unlikely a prospect as had Snivellus. Sirius couldn't help but wonder at first whether he was hallucinating again. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. The younger boy, however, was still kneeling beside him, a worried expression sitting rather strangely on his face, when he again lifted his heavy lids. The disgusting taste of Pepperup potion continued to linger in his mouth.

"Well?" Regulus asked.

"You gave me Pepperup," Sirius replied, saying the first thing to entered his head as an invigorating warmth flooded through his veins.

"Er… yeah. Are you feeling any better?"

He was, a little - his mind had cleared somewhat and welcome energy filled his limbs - and he told his brother so. A moment later he added, "You know I hate Pepperup."

"Well it obviously helped you, so shut up!"

He could hardly believe this to be real. Regulus was helping him. **_Regulus_** was actually **_helping_** him!

"Come on. Let's get you out of here."

"Regulus… er… thank you. But… why?"

That, he found, was the question that dominated his mind as, in spite of his continuing sense of disbelief, he allowed his brother's hands - solid, real hands, his brain supplied - to help him rise unsteadily to his feet.

"Because you're my brother. You know, 'blood is thicker than water', and all that shit. This doesn't mean we're friends."

"Oh."

Regulus' answer did little to enlighten him. After all, their blood relationship had never mattered before, had it? Why should this time be so different? Regulus had only ever cared about himself; he had only ever done those things that were in his own best interests. Helping him would not be in Regulus' best interests. Quite the opposite, if anything. Not that he was about to turn his offer of help down…

"Do you need anything?"

"What?"

"To take with you. From in here. Do you need anything?"

"Oh. Um…" Not that he could think of. He **_needed_** a great many things, but nothing that he could get from in his room. If there was anything… well, he couldn't think of them. Not at the moment anyway.

He shook his head.

With his good arm slung over Regulus' shoulder, and with Regulus' supporting arm around his waist, they started towards the door.

The door…

Sirius suddenly pulled back, remembering the last time he had been taken out through that doorway. "I'm not going through that again! Not again."

"What…?"

"The door! There are wards. Father put up wards. I'm not going through them." He hung back, shaking his head; his eyes fixed on the open door. Open, but still impassable.

"Oh. How do I get them down?"

"I don't know!" He turned his head to the side to see a wide-eyed Regulus chewing nervously on his lower lip as he examined the doorway. "Kreacher could do it, so it can't be anything too hard…" he added.

With one arm still locked supportively around Sirius' waist, Regulus withdrew his wand from within his robes and took a hesitant step closer, drawing Sirius along with him. But Sirius was now barely aware of the imminent danger of the wards - his attention had shifted to the slender eight inches of ash in his brother's hand.

A wand…

Regulus' wand.

He barely even registered the words that accompanied the movements, his eyes fixed upon the wand as it swished and flicked, probing at the wards.

Harsh light suddenly flared. Sirius staggered back a step, his entire body tensing painfully as an uncontrollable burst of fear shot through him. That light was usually accompanied by twining bonds of energy that caught and held him, that hurt him… Regulus let out a gasp of surprise, hastily snatching his wand back from the writhing tendrils that twined towards his hand. He gave a final hurried swish of the wand and, with a squeaked "_finite_," the lights gave one last flare and blinked out.

"Er… I think they're gone now."

"You 'think'…"

"No. Actually, I'm pretty sure. Yeah. They're gone."

Sirius stood in silence for a brief moment, struggling to regain his previous calm, before giving a quick, jerky nod of his head. He supposed he'd have to take the risk. Regulus did seem pretty sure of himself, after all. And if… if they were still up… He drew a deep breath, forcing his fear away. Regulus wouldn't just leave him caught in them - not like Kreacher had… Would he? No. No, he wouldn't. He could trust his brother. He could!

"Come on then. We'd better get a move on. We don't want Father to catch us…" Regulus' voice fell silent as they took the final step through the doorway.

He was out. Sirius closed his eyes, releasing his breath on a sigh of relief. Regulus had done it.

"Well done, Reg," he murmured, relaxing slightly against his brother's supportive arm as they paused for a moment on the landing.

This was it. Soon he would be free. Soon he would be safe. Soon… All he had to do now was get out of the house…

"At least all these portraits are empty tonight," Regulus said softly as they started down. "I don't know how they would have reacted… Half of them would probably have gone running to Mother or Father."

"Yeah. Most of them hate me. They all think I'm a disgrace…"

Regulus made no reply. Probably, Sirius thought bitterly, because he agreed with them. He doubted that had changed.

"Urrgh!" He suddenly wrinkled his nose as an unpleasantly sweet scent drifted up from the lower floors. "What is that smell?"

"Flowers."

"Huh?"

"Far too many flowers." Regulus glanced over at him, a slight smile briefly curving his lips. "You can tell you haven't been around for any of the parties for a long time. Mother likes to fill the entire house with as many flowers as she possibly can. They tend to stink the whole place out."

"It's horrible…"

"Yeah. I agree."

Silence fell between them as they carefully navigated the steep staircase. Sirius simply concentrated on placing each foot in front of the other as his steps grew increasingly unsteady, determined not to fall. Last time that had happened he'd been dragged down… Regulus, at his side, seemed to be lost in thought.

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," the other boy suddenly muttered, breaking the silence. "Father's going to kill me when he finds out."

"Why should he find out?"

"Why shouldn't he? You get out and I'm missing from the party. He'll put two and two together and I am going to be **_so_** dead." His voice was slowly but steadily rising in volume. "This is madness! What was I thinking?" He drew to a halt.

Sirius stood at his brother's side - he didn't have all that much choice in the matter, really. His legs felt like jelly and, had Regulus' arm not continued to support him, he probably would have collapsed into a heap then and there.

"We are **_so_** going to get caught," Regulus continued. "We have a house full of guests! How am I supposed to get you out?"

It took several long moments for Sirius to realise that the question was actually directed at him. "Er… front door…" he finally supplied, only to receive an exasperated, fear-filled glance from his brother.

"Were you not listening to me? We have a **_house full of guests_**! We'll be seen long before we reach the front door. Or, more importantly, you'll be seen, and I'll be spotted helping you. And Father will undoubtedly hear about it…"

Sirius shook his pounding head, struggling to clear away the fog that seemed to have settled again over his mind. He had to think! What other ways were there of getting out of this damned house?

"What about floo?"

"Floo…" Calmness seemed to settle over Regulus as the idea took hold. "Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, that should work. All we need then is some powder and a room with a fire. The fire should be easy enough to find. My room… And I think I still have some powder… somewhere…"

"It's prob'ly a good thing…" Sirius murmured, a bemused frown on his lips as his gaze fell to his feet.

"What is?"

"That I'm not goin' outside."

"Yeah… Er - any particular reason?"

"Forgotten my shoes."

"Huh. You idiot." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Regulus shaking his head, but he didn't look up. He didn't have the energy to look up. "I asked if you needed anything."

"Sorry…" he slurred, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. "Wasn't thinking…"

Although Regulus continued to mutter under his breath, as they made their way down the staircase, Sirius no longer made any effort to understand his indistinct words. All his effort was concentrated now on remaining upright and, more importantly, conscious.

Although the Pepperup - hideous concoction that it was - **_had_** helped, it had by no means worked any miracles. He still felt like shit, and that was a massive understatement. The potion had given him some energy, had, for a time, cleared his mind of some of the confused fog that clouded it, but little more than that. And now it was wearing off.

He forced himself to place one foot before the other - again and again; step after step - but with each second that passed he was forced to lean more and more of his weight upon his brother's shoulder. Pain raged undiminished over his entire body, throughout his entire system. His head pounded, feeling as if his brain was trying to escape the confines of his skull. His vision swam unpleasantly. His stomach churned. His chest heaved, his heart hammering erratically.

He fought back against the sensations…

One foot was placed carefully after the other…

He had to keep moving.

"Sirius!" Regulus' frantic voice suddenly broke through his drifting thoughts, and he slowly lifted his head - which had, he realised, come to lie against his brother's shoulder. "Please stay awake, Sirius. I can't carry you! Merlin, this is hard enough as it is," the younger boy added in an undertone.

He blinked slowly, struggling to keep his eyes open and focussed.

"Sirius…"

"I'm 'wake," he answered. "I'll be fine. Let's jus'… keep going. Yeah…"

He had to keep moving.

For a brief moment he met Regulus' eyes, but he quickly glanced away. He wasn't used to seeing concern on his brother's face. It just didn't seem right somehow.

"Come on," he said, and took an unstable step forwards, only to stumble to a halt a moment later.

"Are you alright?"

He didn't answer. If he opened his mouth to speak he'd probably be sick. His stomach roiled in discordant unease, nausea swirling though him. He knew what had caused that. Having been forced to swallow so many of his father's concoctions had wreaked havoc on his system. The Pepperup, as useful as it may have been, couldn't have helped either.

He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as the world shifted around him. His finger's tensed, clenching down onto the stiff fabric that covered his brother's shoulder as his legs suddenly threatened to give way. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't hurt. But he couldn't collapse. He had to stay upright; had to keep going. He had to get out of here!

"I'll be alright," he finally said, slowly opening his eyes. Regulus was staring at him in wide-eyed alarm. "I'll be alright," he repeated, more firmly this time and, with a deep breath, took the next hesitant step forwards.

That was a mistake.

A gasp escaped him as a sudden pain tore through his middle, heightening the churning nausea. Yet again the world jerked and span, colours swimming and blurring together before him.

"Sirius…"

"I think," he said, closing his eyes against the unpleasant sensation, "I'm gonna be sick…"

"What? Oh shit! Sirius…"

He didn't remember being lowered to the floor, but the next thing he knew he was kneeling, his head bowed as he drew in deep, unsteady breaths, Regulus hovering over him. He didn't want to be sick. It hurt to be sick… But it was no good. With each breath the smell of his mother's flowers grew stronger and stronger, a final trigger that he was unable to deny. He heaved, unable to hold back any longer as the sickeningly sweet scent overwhelmed him.

His brother's hands moved soothingly against his shoulders, gathering his hair back from his face as he retched. He couldn't prevent his flinch at the first tentative, uncertain touch, his abused body reacting instinctively - but he felt too hideously ill to do any more than that. And besides… it was just Regulus… He didn't need to be scared of Regulus. He didn't.

Finally it ended. For several long moments he remained kneeling, his eyes closed, his mind adrift, as he struggled to regain enough strength to rise again to his feet. He finally lifted his head, his eyes fixing briefly on his brother's as he was jerked back to reality by the chill of a wet glass being pressed into his shaking hand. He took a small, careful sip of the refreshing liquid, thankfully rinsing away the bitter taste of bile.

"Where'd this…"

"I _accio_'d it," Regulus replied, without waiting for him to complete his sentence. Of course, Sirius thought groggily - _accio_. His brother had a wand, didn't he? "Are you alright now?"

He slowly nodded his head. He didn't feel 'alright', but he wasn't going to be sick any more. He hoped.

"_Evanesco!_" Regulus said, causing the sick to vanish from the floor. "Come on. Can you walk again? We've got to move."

"What? Oh… yeah. I think so." It took a moment for his brother's words to filter through to his brain. His wandering attention had again been caught on the sight of his brother's wand. As grateful as he was for the younger boy's use of it on his behalf, he would much prefer the thing to be in his possession. He would feel far more secure were the thing in his possession. Far, far more secure.

As they started down the next staircase he made a decision, finally accepting a thought that had teased at his mind since they'd left his room. The wand was in a pocket that was only a few inches from his hand. Admittedly that hand was attached to his broken arm, but… He could do it. He hoped. It would hurt like hell, he knew, but he should be able to do it. It would be worth it - as long as Regulus, of course, didn't find out what he'd done.

He knew exactly what to expect as he tentatively shifted his fingers, but that didn't prepare him for the pain that exploded through his arm, searing along his nerves. He gritted his teeth, struggling not to make any sort of sound that might draw his brother's attention to his actions, and he closed a feeble grip around the cool wood. Drawing a shaky breath, he transferred the wand from his brother's pocket into his own, leaving Regulus none the wiser.

It wasn't that he didn't trust his brother… Okay, so maybe that wasn't entirely true. After all, Regulus had never before given him any reason **_to_** trust him, had he? He had always delighted in getting him into trouble. For as long as he could remember, Regulus had taken their parents' side against him. But this time, in this situation - where the younger boy really seemed to want to help him - it wasn't lack of trust that motivated him. It was more the knowledge that, if they did actually encounter anyone, Regulus would never even consider using his wand against them. Sirius, on the other hand, would not even hesitate.

He did trust him. It was just better for him to have the wand, which Regulus would never agree to. This time he could trust him…

He couldn't help but wonder though… Just what was it that made this time so different…? Why **_was_** Regulus helping him? The younger boy had never shown him any kindness in the past. Why should that have changed now? What if this was just another way of tormenting him? What if… What if they were just giving him a glimpse of freedom…?

No! No… He could trust him. He could. This time… This time his brother was helping him. This time he could trust him…

Trust. It was such a little word, yet such an important thing.

He had always been severely limited in people who he could really trust. For a long time there had just been Tibby. Sweet, loyal, dependable Tibby. But she was now dead… Everyone else in his life had always been likely to cause him harm - in one way or another.

He had never had that framework of unquestioned trust that most people seemed to possess - a family upon whom they could always rely. Parents, siblings, friends. All those people who could always be depended on. No… He hadn't had that. Just Tibs… He hadn't even realised what he was missing out on until he went to Hogwarts. Until he met the other Marauders.

At Hogwarts he had built up his own 'framework'. He had found people who he could trust and they had trusted him in return! He had never been trusted before. Except by Tibby and she… she... And now he had lost the Marauders as well. Maybe there was a reason no one had trusted him before. After all, all he did was throw it back in their faces…

And now… Once he did get out, once he did get back to Hogwarts - what then? He'd be away from his parents… his father… but his life didn't look particularly promising, did it? He'd be able to tell them - or, more importantly, tell Dumbledore - about his father's work, but he wasn't even certain that he'd be believed. After all… after all… his last talk with the headmaster… It hadn't been pleasant. Trust. Yet again it all came back to that one little word. He had betrayed everyone's trust. How could he now be trusted in return? And his friends… No. They wouldn't trust him now either. No one would trust him… He didn't deserve to be trusted.

No! He would not think about that now. He **_could_** not think about that now. That lay in the future. Right now he had to concentrate on getting away from this place; concentrate on remaining upright… Such thoughts as these would have to wait.

"Not far now," Regulus was muttering under his breath. "We're nearly there now."Sirius wasn't entirely sure whether his words were meant for him or not, but was about to answer anyway when a sudden loud chime echoed throughout the house. He couldn't prevent the squawk of fear that escaped him as he froze. At his side Regulus also tensed, his fingers suddenly digging almost painfully into Sirius' side. A second later the noise was followed by another. And another.

With an edgy, uneasy bark of laughter, Regulus slowly relaxed his harsh grip. "Happy New Year, Sirius," he said.

Sirius released his breath in a long sigh of nervous relief, the tension draining from his body. "Happy New Year," he murmured in reply.

The further down the stairs they travelled, the clearer he could hear the sounds drifting up from the lower floors - the happy, cheerful voices that mingled with the soft strains of music as his parents and their guests saw in the New Year. It was such a contradiction to everything that Sirius was currently feeling that it almost made him feel physically sick. It simply highlighted to him just how little the rest of his family cared about him. That they could so easily celebrate, whilst he… he…

He had never before known the journey down from his to Regulus' room to take so long. There were only three flights of stairs, but they seemed to take an absolute eternity to descend. Finally, though, they were there, on the landing outside Regulus' room. After casting a quick, nervous glance down the next - thankfully empty - staircase, his brother pushed open the door and helped him inside.

It was with an exhausted, pained sigh that Sirius slumped thankfully onto the hard, wooden chair that sat before his brother's desk. He rested there, dragging ragged breaths into his lungs as the younger boy rummaged through his trunk in search of the floo powder. His eyes drifted closed, blocking out the swaying, blurry image of his brother. He couldn't, however, block out the sound of his brother's voice.

"You can floo to the house of that friend of yours then, can't you? That Potter boy?" he was saying.

James.

That really wasn't a pleasant thought - but, well, he supposed he'd have to. What other options did he have? Could you floo into Hogwarts? He wasn't sure. He'd never heard of anyone doing so… Knowing his luck, if he tried he'd probably end up being spewed out of the fireplace of one of his parents' insane friends. Or, even worse, straight out into the room where his father was sitting.

So… James' it was then.

"Here we are! Found it! Er… Sirius…"

"Huh?" He shook his head, lifting heavy lids as he realised that Regulus was now talking to him. "What?"

"I've got the floo powder. Are you ready?"

"Oh. Um… yeah. To James'…"

With his brother's hands to help him rise again to his feet, it took only a moment for Sirius to cross to the fire that blazed in the hearth. The heat of the flames was almost uncomfortable against his legs after the past weeks of being so unpleasantly cold, but soon… soon he would be able to get properly warm, properly well. If, of course, James didn't just throw him straight back out onto the streets… He drew a deep breath and reached into the pot of floo powder.

Only to freeze as the sound of a familiar set of footsteps in the hallway outside sent a jolt of terror running through him. He knew those footsteps. The grains of floo powder spilled from between his fingers, trickling back into the pot. Those were Father's footsteps. He turned, wide-eyes fixing upon the closed door as he willed the man to keep going. Regulus' presence at his side was forgotten.

The footsteps halted.

The door swung open.

For a brief moment shocked silence reigned. Under any other circumstances he may have found the expression on his father's face vaguely amusing. But now - he was anything but amused.

"Just what is going on here?" his father snapped, his angry voice breaking through the silence. "And just where exactly do you think you're going?"

Sirius shrank back as the older man steadily advanced into the room, his heart thudding in his chest, his eyes fixed upon the older man's cold face. He had to get out! Had to get away! But he was trapped. There was nowhere for him to retreat to. The heat on his legs told him that...

The fire! The floo! He still had the floo powder! But the older man would be able to hex him long before he could actually use it… Unless, of course, he hexed him first…

Releasing the powder still caught between his fingers - not even bothering to look where it fell - he quickly reached into his pocket for Regulus' wand.

"_Stupefy_!"

His father slumped to the floor. Ignoring Regulus' shocked face Sirius turned back to the fire and reached for another handful of floo powder.

This was it. All he had to do was toss in the powder and step into the flames - and then he would be free. Regulus… Regulus would find his own way of getting out of this. He always did. He'd be all right. Tomorrow he'd be leaving for Hogwarts, after all. Sirius couldn't worry about his brother now. For a brief moment though, he met the younger boy's scared eyes.

"Thanks," he said.

He didn't get to say any more than that, however, as a second set of footsteps made him spin back to the doorway. His head pounded in protest at the movement, causing his sight to dim. He barely caught a glimpse of a fair-haired head before a lazy voice calmly said "_stupefy!_", causing a jet of red to connect with his chest.

Darkness claimed him.

* * *

Lampathy - I love you!!! The first of my friends to actually come and read this! Treespirit (and I'm sure you can figure out who that is!) has also read it now, as well - did you know? Anyways, yes, I am finding dialogue much easier nowadays - probably because I actually talk to people now, which is always useful… Talk to you soon.

Treespirit - Thank you, thank you, thank you! My non-Harry Potter reading friend has actually read and enjoyed my fic! I'm not going to give the normal response to your review - I think we covered most of it on the phone the other week, anyway - as I want to get this posted and typing out a full response would probably take me ages. Love you. Talk to you soon.

Allacaya - Regulus has really developed as I've been writing this. He actually started off very different, but the more I write him and think about him, the better he becomes. He was originally meant to be as bad as the rest of the family! Interesting you said that about Sirius… I wrote a scene just before I posted Ch13 for a possible 4th story which explored a similar idea. Real life has gotten a little less hectic but, unfortunately, we're still working with only half a team, so its still not great. I hope you liked this chapter as well.

Drew-Hanson - thank you, my 100th reviewer! Here's your update. All I can really say is that he will get back to school eventually.

Lhune - Just out of interest, what was it that made you like that chapter more than the one's before. I always wonder when people say they like one better than all the earlier ones - especially when it's a chapter like that one… I have to admit that, although I enjoyed doing the other viewpoints, I like being in Sirius' head best of all, so I was quite happy to get back to him for this chapter. Yeah, Regulus risked an awful lot for his brother. Speaking of which, I'm rather looking forward to writing the next chapter… Being evil is good… My birthday was alright. I didn't really see many people and I got most of my cards about I week late, but I kind of expect that nowadays. My brother's never remember anyone's birthday. And I'm 25 years old.

Phinea - I was actually kind of worried about the change in view point. I'm quite glad that most people seemed to like it. I did enjoy showing Sirius, and Sirius' situation, through other peoples eyes. You should be finding out just how aware Sirius was during that whole episode with Voldy in Ch15. Hopefully. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.

marauding-seriously - I'm so glad you liked the whole chapter. I had got to the point where I couldn't actually stand most of it, but I'm often like that by the time I post. Um… no. Sorry. No Marauders yet. He will get back to Hogwarts **_eventually_** though… Hope this chapter was okay.

Linker 27 - Thanks for your review, and thanks for not minding my failure at meeting deadlines. I've been getting kind of worried about that…

Gohan Hugger - Yeah, I kind of like Regulus too. His role in this wasn't actually something I'd planned. He was originally as bad as the rest of his family, but the more I wrote him and the more I thought about him, the more he kept being rather nice. Um… Yeah, he does need to escape soon, doesn't he…

Dumbo-Dolly - there are probably about three or four more chapters after this one. It keeps expanding. I'd only planned on writing twelve chapters for this one. I hate to think how long the next two stories are going to end up being. Yes, Voldemort did mean 'enticing' in that way, though it was never meant to be anything overt. I'm quite glad someone picked up on it.

EsScaper - as I was just saying in reply to Dumbo-Dolly's review, that undertone of… er… sexual danger, I suppose you could call it, was meant to be in there. I have been tempted at times to have him raped, but it would be too much. If I were to write a story that included a rape, that would be the central issue of the story and I know that it never could be in this. I don't think I could actually abandon this fic, as much as my family might nag me to get on with my original stuff, I'm enjoying myself too much. I'm glad you don't mind waiting for updates. I'm working on this pretty much whenever I can, but my free time isn't all that great. I hope this chapter was okay.

Silberfell - This does actually keep threatening to become a never-ending story, so don't worry - it's not ending anytime soon. There are another two, at least, after this one finishes! I did work out what Du bist…etc meant, but I can't remember what the translator said it was. I remember it was nice… so, thanks. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. By the way, your English is far better than I could ever hope to be in any other language.

- have you any more of a name or do I just keep on calling you . ? Anyway, thanks for your review. I'm glad you liked the change in viewpoint. That was, amongst others, one of my reasons for doing it. I did actually write a couple of bits from Voldemort's viewpoint as well, but none of them really worked. Another VP change felt really unwieldy in the middle of the chapter, so I ended up leaving them out. They didn't really add all that much to it. I hope you like this chapter as well.

Jan - Thanks! Here's the next chapter for you. I hope you like it.

dido - I'm glad you liked the first part of the chapter, though I happen to disagree that it shows plot movement. Mostly, I think, it shows character motivation - I was worried that it wasn't really necessary and that the beginning of his second section could be expanded to show those things. I think it's more the second half of the chapter that shows plot movement. Um… Sorry. I'm afraid he isn't out yet. The next couple of chapters are quite important for what happens in the next story, though, so they can't be left out. He will be out soon…

Maria - Arcturus is horrible, isn't he? He, like Regulus, has really taken on a life of his own since I've started writing this! I can't really tell you how his part in the story is going to end, but don't worry, he will get his comeuppance. Sirius will have a 'happy, sappy, fluffy, yummy ending' - unfortunately, it will be quite some time in coming. Thanks for your review!

DarkHiei - thanks for your reviews. I did get both of them. And thanks, I am writing my own stuff. I have been for a long time - unfortunately I'd been suffering a very bad case of writer's block, which is why I started writing this. I will be a published author one day! I hope… I happen to agree with you about that chapter, though no one else seems to. I still feel that it was rather weaker than many that had gone before it, though I did enjoy writing from other people's viewpoints. If you spot any more mistakes in grammar, I don't suppose you could point them out to me. I don't like grammatical mistakes! I usually read through a chapter several dozen times before I post it, making sure it's all correct. I knew that if I read through Ch13 one more time I'd end up starting again from scratch. I'm afraid that meant a few must have slipped past me.

Sun Kissed Rose - I've always quite liked showing my central character through the eyes of someone else, it gives you quite a different view of them than what is given when you're in their head. I hope that was what you found in the last chapter. I'm glad you liked it anyway. I find the same thing writing angst after I've been reading humour - it takes me ages to get back into the right mood! I think I may have read the beginning of your story. I'm going to have to go and have another read, aren't I? I must admit, I tend to be a dreadful lurker… Hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last.

WEAT-BIX - thanks for your review. The exact nature of the relationship between Sirius and his brother had definitely developed while I've been writing this, and I think 'connected' is probably one of the best ways of describing it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Brennqt14 - Thanks for your review - I'm glad you're enjoying it!. Um… he will get back to Hogwarts eventually, but that's all I can really say. And no, I don't think he can take much more either…

YoshimiWolfspaw - thanks for your review. I hope you keep on reading.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

A/N - I'm so sorry about the wait for this chapter! I now share a house with two practically dead computers. The only times I've been able to type anything up has been when I've been at my parent's house - which is where I am now. Pretty much the whole of the rest of this story **_is_** written in my notepads, I just need to spend a good chunk of time sitting at a computer putting it all together. Unfortunately most of the time I'm at my parent's house there are also several other people also wanting to use the thing… Anyways, I hope everyone enjoys the chapter. Please leave me a review!

Disclaimer - Still not mine.

Chapter Fifteen

The sudden flood of harsh, unnatural energy through his body did little to speed Sirius' return to consciousness. The darkness that shrouded him was unwilling to recede. He didn't want it to recede. He wanted to hold on to it. It was safe. It was pain free.

"_Ennervate!_"

Energy again coursed through him, clearing away some of the fog and allowing awareness to begin flowing slowly back.

"Wakey-wakey, Sirius," an amused voice sing-songed from somewhere above him, echoing hollowly in his ears.

He knew that voice… Who's was it? He knew he knew it…

"Come on! Wake up, Black!"

He felt like he was wading through treacle.

"Fuck this. Stupid brat." Muttered curses sounded as something connected heavily with his side. The fresh assault spearheaded an avalanche of agonising sensation over his entire body. He would have cringed away, tried to escape the pain, would have cried out - but his body felt leaden, too heavy to move in protest.

Footsteps receded. The pain slowly retreated into a dull roar, allowing other feelings to creep slowly back.

He could, he realized, feel heat. A pleasant warmth upon skin that had been chill for too long. He could also hear the distinctive crackle and pop of an open fire. But... Why was he near a fire? He doubted either of his parents had suddenly relented and ordered one to be lit in his hearth. That just seemed... unlikely. He cautiously cracked open his heavy lids. Only to wince and quickly let them fall as bright light blazed, searing into his eyes. Green flames danced behind closed lids.

Green flames...?

Where was he?

Mindful this time of the glare, he again eased open his eyes, carefully shifting his heavy head to turn his gaze away. He blinked slowly, forcing his swimming sight to still. Regulus' room… What was he doing in Regulus' room? The last thing he remembered he'd been waiting for his father in that entertaining room... How had he gotten to here?

Flashes of remembrance hit him in a rush. The potions. Voldemort. Regulus. He had been about to take the floo to James' when his father... And Malfoy! He had stunned his father, but then Malfoy had arrived!

Oh shit.

The floo! He had seen green flames... The fire held an active connection!

Barely even thinking about his actions he began to push himself painfully to his knees. He good hand, he realised, was still clenched into a fist, trapping grainy floo powder in his grip. That might be useful, he thought blearily. He wasn't sure how much longer the current connection would last for. A sharp voice drifted to his ears, a shout whose meaning was banished by his foggy brain but which spurred him into sudden action. Giving up on any attempt to regain his feet, he lunged forward into the emerald flames.

He barely had his head and shoulders inserted when a hard hand caught hold of his foot. He kicked out, straining to dislodge the persistent grip as he felt the stifling, ash-heavy warmth surround him.

"Godric's Hollow!" he croaked hurriedly.

He squeezed his eyes tightly closed as his head span within the network of fireplaces. The world still seemed to be spinning when his eyes reopened to the sight of the Potter's empty living room.

He had time, however, to do little other than frantically shout James' name before a second hand joined the first, dragging him back through the whirl of the network and out of the fire, tossing him into a heap on the floor. Darkness momentarily descended within the wave of pain that the rough handling sent through his abused body, but, unfortunately, oblivion failed to fully claim him as he was overtaken by a fit of harsh, painful coughing. He curled on his side, barely able to prevent either his broken arm or his damaged shoulder from taking the entire weight of his body.

Gasping still for breath, he finally collapsed onto his back, his eyes flickering half open, only to find Lucius' Malfoy's ominous presence looming over him. Sirius, still struggling to free his mind from the insidious tendrils of unconsciousness, felt a wash of panicky fear at the sight. Caught as it was in shadows cast by the fire behind him, Malfoy's face seemed transformed into a hideous mask. The sneer that twisted his mouth did little to disperse the image.

With his eyes not leaving the blurry features of the older boy, Sirius quickly sought to scamper backwards, struggling to get his feet under him and push himself upright. Defiance began to mingle with his fear. He didn't like appearing - didn't like **_being -_** so vulnerable before Malfoy. He cast a weakly rebellious glare at the other pureblood, only to receive a look of smug amusement in return as his legs yet again gave way. The clatter of metal upon hearth tiles echoed unnaturally loud in his ears as his erratic movements caught against the small companion-set, sending pokers and shovels clattering to the floor. He ignored the noise, ignored the shards of pain shooting through his body. His eyes remained fixed upon those of the young man who towered over him as he retreated as far as he was able. All too soon his back rested against the wall.

He shook his head blearily as the tableau drew a hazy memory unwillingly to the fore of his mind. His father and his potions. And Voldemort. Voldemort... who he had been to forced to kneel before... He remembered very little of that evening, with only small snippets of information slipping through the pain-filled murk, but he remembered...

He remembered kneeling before the Dark Lord, with a cruel hand in his hair, pulling his head up. He remembered brown eyes, glistening with a blood-red sheen, boring into his own. He remembered the feeling of a mind pressing against his; an unwelcome touch rifling through his thoughts, his memories. He remembered... He had automatically begun to fight back against the intrusion - it was a style of attack, after-all, that he had encountered many a time before. But this was far harder. Especially with the insidious effects of his father's potions twined around mind and body, pain flaring throughout, and... And Voldemort was far stronger than his mother. He had been able to do little other than withdraw, shielding only his deepest secrets from the Dark Lord's gaze. He had rarely before felt such relief as when Voldemort withdrew, eye contact broken.

Voldemort had also asked to be given him.

Had that really happened…? Yes… Yes, he thought, it had. Everything was unclear - distorted and lost within the haze of his father's potions - but those words stood out against the blurry background.

Voldemort had asked for possession, and his father had refused.

_"He is mine." _Sirius almost shivered, despite the heat of the fire, as he remembered hearing his father utter those words.

"Sirius, Sirius, Sirius," Lucius Malfoy's silky voice tutted, breaking through his hazy recollections. "I wouldn't be doing that, if I were you. Daddy dearest is wanting a little word with you." The was a cruel, nasty glint in the pale eyes as they stared avidly down at him.

Despite Malfoy's immediate, imminently threatening presence, however, it was the figure that Sirius could just glimpse standing behind the older boy, the soft voice that just barely carried to his ears, that caused terror to flood through him. Any defiance that he may have earlier felt was swiftly swept away. It was his father.

His father…

Who he had stunned...

Who would now…

He couldn't take this anymore. He had been so close… So close! He had so nearly been safely away! But it had all been useless. He was still here, still trapped, still in his father's power. He didn't want to have to face the man again when he was angry. It was bad enough - worse than bad enough - in 'normal' circumstances, but when he was angry… The last time he had seen his father with less than perfect control over his temper had been the day after he had destroyed the lab... He couldn't face that again. He just couldn't.

His hands clenched spasmodically, setting pains shooting from fingertips to shoulder along his injured arm, as he felt a heavy blanket of despair settle over him. It was only then, however, that he realised that a fine, gritty powder was **_still_** trapped between his fingers. The floo powder, he realised. How he'd managed to keep hold of even a small amount of that was beyond him, but a small amount was all he'd need. All it took was a pinch... He cast a quick glance up at Malfoy's hovering presence. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to use it yet.

Moving slowly, carefully, desperate not to draw Malfoy's attention to the motion, he slipped his hand into his pocket. If he could just be left alone in a room with a fire - even if only for a bare minute - he could still get away. He wasn't giving up yet. He wasn't!

"Are you looking for this?"

His movements hastily stilling, Sirius looked uneasily up, blinking as his sight swam unpleasantly. Malfoy was smirking down at him, twirling a wand between his fingers. "Regulus', is it not?"

Regulus' wand. He hadn't even thought about it, actually; had barely even registered that it was absent.

Regulus! What had happened to Regulus?

Tearing his gaze away from Malfoy's, struggling to ignore the older boy's malicious chuckle, Sirius glanced around the room. His eyes automatically fixed upon his father, his ears straining to make out the man's words. He blinked again, drawing an unsteady breath, as the world reeled around him before snapping suddenly back into sharp focus. He couldn't see his brother, but he could, he realised, hear him - the quiet, scared voice of the younger boy was almost drowned by their father's angry lecture.

"I'm sorry, Father... I didn't mean..."

"What were you thinking, you stupid little fool? Have you any idea what the consequences would have been had he gotten away? He could have ruined us all! Is that what you want? To see your family in ruins? Have you been around that blood-traitor so much that you've lost sight of what's important?"

"No! I… I… He made me," Regulus was crying. "I wasn't helping him. Not really. He… You know what he's like! He had my wand. You saw that! I didn't have any choice. He made me do it, Father!"

That's it, Reggy, Sirius thought bitterly, letting his eyes fall closed, blame it all on me. Why should this time be any different to any other occasion during their childhood? Not that he really blamed the boy… Not really. It was the only sensible thing to do in the circumstances. After all, he was already in the shit; there was no point in Regulus being tossed into it as well - but that didn't stop his brother's rejection of him from smarting. For a little while it had seemed like he actually had Regulus on his side. Listening to the other boy now, though, simply brought back memories of other such incidents - all the times when Regulus had gotten himself out of trouble by pushing Sirius deeper into it.

He was tired. So tired. All he wanted was to be able to close his eyes and have it all disappear - but that wasn't about to happen. The heavy toe of a boot tapped at his side, causing him to give a moan of pain as it landed on flesh that was already bruised and broken.

"Wake up, Sirius," Malfoy said, emphasizing his point with another light kick. "We can't have you going back to sleep on us now, can we?"

He opened his eyes in time to see his father's hand lash out. The sound of a fist connecting with flesh, swiftly followed by his brother's small cry of pain, told him that, for this short while at least, he was not the target of his father's rage. But that fact did little to make him feel better. Regulus was being punished for helping him. Yet again he had managed to bring harm to someone who was trying to help him. Just like he had with Tibs…

"What is going on here?" Silence fell as all eyes turned towards the doorway at the sudden voice that sounded. Sirius felt his heart sink even further as his mother entered the room. "I was looking for Regulus... I had not expected to find such a gathering."

"Mother, please!" Regulus wept, scurrying quickly across to clutch at the hem of the woman's robe. "I didn't mean to. I didn't! Why won't he believe me…? Mother! I wouldn't. You know I wouldn't. Please make him stop."

"Be silent, Regulus! What's going on, Arcturus?"

"The brat was trying to escape and this one was helping him!"

"I wasn't!"

"Your mother told you to be silent! Do as you are told, Boy, or you'll end up in the same state as your brother."

"He was trying to escape!" their mother repeated, incredulous.

Sirius flinched back, his heart lurching in his chest as she cast a look of hate-filled madness his way. With a muffled whimper he drew his knees higher, his cracked lips pressed against the sore flesh of his wrist. He stared up at the other occupants of the room through a tangle of black hair. The sardonic presence of Malfoy continued to stand over him like a guard whilst his mother turned to glare up at her tall husband, Regulus grovelling still at her feet. Sirius was forced to listen as the woman launched into her tirade.

"This just goes to prove it," she snarled. "I've said it before and I'll say it again - you cannot let him live! He's a danger to the family. How can we trust him not to reveal everything he knows to his little Gryffindor friends? We can't! He is a traitor to everything that we believe in. He is a traitor to his blood! Family loyalty means nothing to him." She paused, her gaze moving between Sirius and his brother before returning to her scowling husband. "And you seriously think Regulus would help him?"

"I know what I saw, Woman."

"Regulus - what happened?"

"I... um... I... I went up to his room. I don't really know why. He was lying on the floor. I thought he was out cold but he grabbed my wand when I leant over him. He made me do, Mother. He made me help him! I didn't want to!"

"I find that hard to believe," their father interrupted. "I know what state he was in when he was returned to his room. There's no way he could have done anything of the sort."

"He did!"

"Leave Regulus to me," their Mother said. "Seeing as you insist Sirius is yours..."

"What on Earth is going on in here?"

Yet again all eyes turned to the door as another unexpected voice sounded. This time, however, the figure that stood framed in the doorway was one that Sirius was far more pleased to see. The thin, darkly clad, frame of his Great Uncle Alphard looked almost insubstantial in the dim light, only his shock of white hair making him stand out against the darkened hallway.

"Sirius!" the old man exclaimed as his gaze fell on him before turning to Sirius' father. "Arcturus - what is happening here? What has been happening to that poor boy?"

"That's not really any of your business, is it, Old Man?"

"It is if I decide to make it my business!"

"Not this time, Alphard."

From where he continued to cower in the corner, lacking the energy to move towards the sympathetic presence of his Great Uncle, Sirius could clearly see Lucius Malfoy lift his wand towards the elderly man. He didn't even have a chance to cry a warning. Barely a fraction of a second passed before Malfoy uttered his charm.

"_Obliviate!_"

The old man was knocked back a step as the memory charm struck him unawares. A blank expression descended over his face.

"You have neither seen nor heard anything here," Malfoy said, stepping closer to the old man. "You have not seen Sirius. You will return to the party where you will make your farewells before departing." All eyes remained fixed upon Alphard as he woodenly turned to move off down the hallway.

"Muggle loving old fool," Sirius' mother muttered derisively.

Sirius flinched back as he found himself suddenly caught within the thoughtful gaze of his father. The man gave a small, sly smile as their eyes briefly locked. He froze, barely even able to breathe, his heartbeat abruptly racing. That was a smile that promised misery. Even after he was released from the icy contemplation as his father turned back to Malfoy, he found himself unable to calm. Oh Merlin - he couldn't take this any more!

"My thanks, Lucius," the man said.

The silence that fell was broken as his mother turned back to her husband. "I've had enough of this," she snarled. "Just kill him, Arcturus! Get it done. Get him out of the way…"

"No."

"If you don't want to do it yourself," Lucius' lazy voice interjected, "I'm quite happy to do it for you."

Sirius couldn't stop himself from shrinking back as Malfoy's malicious gaze met his own, causing the older boy to give a smirk of satisfaction.

"No," his father repeated, his voice soft, dangerous. "He is mine."

"We cannot let him live! You know this as well as I do!"

His mother's harsh voice sent a shiver running through him, but it was his father's drawl that managed to chill him through to the bone.

"Yes, I know it," the man answered, "but I'm not finished with him yet. He's mine until I say otherwise."

"And what will we do when people come here asking after him? You know they will!"

"Tell them he ran away. They'll believe it - especially if they know what the brat's like. Besides, why should they question us? We are Blacks."

Sirius pressed his forehead against his arm, squeezing his eyes shut. They were probably right. Everyone would buy their explanation. Why should anyone bother to question it? They would all probably be quite glad that he was gone.

"Now - it's late, Spica, and we have guests to bid farewell. We can deal with **_him_** later. He's not going anywhere, after all. Are you Sirius?"

Sirius said nothing; didn't even open his eyes as a sense of despairing numbness settled further over him.

"Fine. Whatever," his mother snapped. "But if anything happens it's on your head!"

"Nothing will 'happen'."

"Regulus, get yourself cleaned up and back downstairs. You've been absent for far too long. And find Kreacher. Someone's got to get that brat back upstairs..."

"Forget the house-elf. Allow me," Malfoy's silky voice suddenly broke in.

Sirius had almost forgotten the older boy's continuing presence. He was beginning to drift, darkness creeping over his conscious thoughts, the lure of unconsciousness dragging at him. He barely heard as a levitation charm was murmured. The following few minutes passed in a blur.

He blinked groggily as he felt himself tumbled onto a soft surface. He was, he realized back in his room, only this time he'd actually been returned to his bed. A blurry face slowly shifted into focus as Malfoy leant closer to him. The older boy's soft voice sifted through layers of confusion as mocking words were whispered into his ear.

"Sweet dreams, Sirius."

A derisive laugh haunted his descent back into nothingness.

His eyes flickered open. Daylight filled the room. A face, with pale skin and lank hair, was leaning over him. The mouth moved and words were spoken, but he had no understanding of their substance. His mind was trapped still within the coils of unconsciousness. The words became a meaningless snarl as a hand caught hold of his hair, drawing his head back, but his eyes had again fallen closed. Only to reopen a moment later as the now familiar sensation of a glass vial touched upon his lips.

Without thinking, carried by panic alone, he jerked away, his hand moving to knock the threatening item away. The vial fell to the bed covers, its contents spilling.

He saw no more than that, however, as pain exploded through his arm. His broken arm, that he had just used.

Darkness descended.

When he finally, fully awoke, the room was again cast in shadows, the only light that of the distant streetlamp. And he was alone. For a short time he merely lay, straining his ears in the darkness for any sound from the rest of the house - but nothing reached him. He could have been the only person still in the building for all he could tell.

His mind drifted. What time was it, he wondered hazily? He had no way of knowing... Except he did, he realised, suddenly remembering Andromeda's gift. Gingerly turning his head, he carefully shifted his arm to catch a glimpse of his watch. Four o'clock. The next question had to be - what day was it?

If, as he had a vague memory of, he had earlier awoken to daylight... that meant it now had to be the second of January. He had slept through practically the whole of New Year's Day. If he did remember truthfully.

Despite the chill of the room his skin felt inexplicably heated. That wasn't good. He knew what that usually meant. He was getting feverish. The last time that had happened, he had seen things. Had he been delirious again earlier? He didn't know, but he suspected not.

If it **_was_** the second of January, then today was the first day of term. Would anyone realise that he was missing? If they did - would anyone care?

Was there any way at all for him to get out?

His hand slowly slipped into his pocket, running pensively over the gritty powder that was caught along the seam.

His fireplace was, he guessed, probably still connected to the floo network. Every fireplace in the house was and he doubted they would have thought to disconnect his. They may have, but he doubted it. Not that that helped him particularly - he had some powder and a connection, but he still didn't have a fire. And he didn't have any means of lighting one. Muggles, he knew, had numerous different ways of lighting fires - matches and lighters and things like that. He had even heard tales of people using pieces of **_flint_** to start one! He, however, didn't have any of those things.

All he had was a few grains of floo powder - floo powder that was completely useless without a fireplace to use them in. Completely and utterly useless.

If only he had thought of it while Tibs had been with him… She could have lit his fire with ease. In fact, he remembered, she had done so. He should have just asked her to get him some floo powder. If he had they could have both been out of here… But had he thought of that? Of course he hadn't. He'd been too stupidly fixated on getting his wand back, hadn't he? It would have been even easier, of course, if he'd brought his own pot of floo powder home with him. As with his two-way mirror, though, he just hadn't seen the point. The thing he usually used it for while at Grimmauld Place was to keep in contact with the other Marauders. This time though… They didn't want him to contact them. They hated him. The floo powder, along with the mirror, had remained at Hogwarts.

He sighed and allowed his fingers to wander through the few other items that filled his pocket. There wasn't much there, but what he did find was more than welcome. He had forgotten that he had kept them, though he recalled doing so now. He was too hungry to turn his nose up at the few hard crusts of bread and pieces of fluff-covered, rindy cheese that he had retained from his last meal, despite the unrest in his stomach from the many potions he had been forced to down,

Potions! His father had tried to give him another potion, he suddenly remembered. That was what had been happening when he had woken up earlier! And he had spilt the thing, had knocked it out of his father's hand. He slowly turned his head. There, on the bedspread, was a fresh stain - it's sticky, bluish tinge telling him that it's creation was almost certainly the one he recalled.

With an exhausted sigh he lay back in his bed. What was his father planning on doing to him now...? No. No, actually - he didn't really want to know. He blinked slowly, his gaze fixing upon the ceiling above his bed as he lay prostrated, struggling to fight against the pain that raged over his entire body. He breathed deeply.

What had happened to Regulus, he wondered. Knowing what their father was like, he couldn't help but fear for his brother... but, then again, Darling Little Reggy was under their mother's protection, unlike Sirius. Not that that meant he'd be getting away scot-free, though. Even if their mother **_did_** believe his story, he would still be punished in some way just for being stupid enough to allow it to happen.

Regulus may have been annoying at times, but this time his brother **_had_** tried to help him, and it was because of that that he was now in trouble. He just hoped that their mother's protection would be enough. He wouldn't wish his father's attention on even his worst enemy. And, besides, they had never treated Regulus as badly as they did him, anyway.

Why couldn't they have ever just accepted him the way he was? That was all he had wanted throughout his entire childhood. But he had never been good enough for them. Whatever he'd done, whatever he'd tried - and he **_had_** tried - he'd only ever been criticized in return. Tibs had been the only one who'd ever praised him, the only one who'd ever given him any sort of encouragement or positive attention. The only times he had ever drawn his parents' notice had been when they'd been criticizing him... Which was something, he supposed, that he had in some ways brought on himself.

He had always wanted their attention. Regulus had gotten it, so why couldn't he? He liked having attention. He had quite early on discovered that the only way to get it from his mother or father was by angering them. Even negative attention was better than none at all. He had learnt to walk the fine line between inviting their critical attention and inviting violence - until he had left for Hogwarts. With his sorting into Gryffindor everything had gone swiftly downhill.

Why couldn't they have just treated him the same way they did Regulus? Why couldn't they have loved him as much as they did Regulus? What was so wrong with him that they couldn't feel any sort of affection at all? He was their son as well, for Merlin's sake! He sighed, gingerly pulling his blankets tighter around his shivering shoulders as he shifted onto his side, curling himself into a ball. In truth they had, in most ways, been just as hard on Regulus as they had on him. Their standards had been exactingly high for them both. The difference, he supposed, was that, unlike him, Regulus had constantly striven to meet those standards. His brother had worked his hardest to be everything that they wanted him to be. He had striven to be the perfect son, and as such he had set himself as a contrast to his trouble-making older brother - and Sirius had suffered as a result.

Tibs had been the only one who had ever cared for him and, in return for her love and loyalty, he had caused her death. There were times when he found understanding Tibby's feelings for him just as hard as he did understanding his parent's. What had he ever done to deserve her loyalty? All he had ever brought to her was hurt. And, ultimately, death. His actions had always rebounded on her. Each time he had displeased his parents, Tibs had been forced to deal with the aftermath. As far as his mother could see, his lack of proper manners had been the fault of incompetent nursemaid.

His eyes drifted back closed. He must have slept again, though he wasn't aware of the transition. The next time awareness returned, so too had the daylight, thin rays struggling from an overcast sky. He was still alone. The time was nearly ten o'clock. Which meant that, if it was indeed the second of January, in only an hour's time the Hogwarts Express would be leaving from platform nine and three quarters - and he had no way of getting to it.

Minutes slowly ticked past, and still he was left alone. In some ways, he thought, it was almost worse. The anticipation. Sitting there, waiting for the man to return…

It was time for the Express to be leaving now. Eleven o'clock. He had missed it. Regulus would be on his way back to Hogwarts - but not him. He was still here. Sirius lay on his side, his broken arm cradled to his chest, throbbing almost unbearably in time with his heartbeat; his knees drawn as high as possible.

He had still had, he seemed, lingering hidden at the back of his mind, the tenuous thought that it would all come to an end with his return to Hogwarts. Even though, consciously at least, he had known that this time was different. After all, most of his holidays passed with him counting down the days until the Express left on it's journey back to the school. That was something that he had always in the past been able to count on.

Not this time though.

His earlier burst of strength and resolve had almost completely faded now. Last night, lying before his brother's fire place, he had thought that he would not give up. He had, until now, managed to grit on through. He had always had the hope, even if it was buried deep inside, that things would ultimately improve. He had always been determined to make his escape.

But why? What was the point? Really? Why did he keep up the struggle? He wasn't going to get out. He had to accept that. There was no way he was going to get out. And, even if he did, his future looked bleak. He was hated by everyone and… and everyone would be far better off without him in their lives. It was over. It was time for him to stop fighting it.

There was only one way for him to escape now.

With a pained groan he gingerly rolled to his back, his left hand - still sore from its encounter with scalding potion over a week earlier - supporting his right. From there he somehow managed to push himself up until he was sitting, his back pressed against his headboard. For a moment he merely slumped there, his head hanging as he fought against the darkness swirling at the edge of his vision. He had never felt so completely weakened in his entire life. He really couldn't take this any more...

Biting down on his lower lip he carefully pushed up his sleeve, revealing the bandage, now looking rather ragged and grimy, that Tibby had bound around his injured, swollen limb. It seemed so long ago… The time since she had last been with him seemed to have dragged on forever, stretching out to fill his entire existence. Seven days. That was all it could have been. Seven days since he had last seen Tibby. Ten days since he had destroyed the potions.

He gazed pensively down at his wrist, at the network of pulsing blue and purple veins and arteries that stood out against his swollen flesh. It would be so simple. So easy. A final defiance. And then he would be free. He wouldn't be missed. No one would even care that he was gone - they'd all probably be quite glad to see the back of him, in fact.

The empty glass sat still beside the plate on the floor near his doorway. How he managed to make his way across the room to it he'd never know - the last straggling remnants of his will-power he supposed - but make it he did. After what seemed an eternity, he finally collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving as sweat dripped down his heated skin.

He barely even thought about his next action. With a single movement the glass was smashed against the door-frame. He cringed, half expecting to hear footsteps upon his stairs - but none sounded.

If someone had told him a few months ago, a few weeks ago even, that he would contemplate taking his own life... He would have laughed in their face. But now... now it was an action that seemed unquestionably appealing. What other options did he have left? He had always seen suicide as being the coward's route - and maybe it was. Maybe he was just a worthless coward. Completely worthless...

He should never have been sorted into Gryffindor.

He lightly trailed the sharp glass over his exposed wrist, leaving behind a thin trail of red. The shallow cut stung but, compared to the many other hurts he'd recently felt, it was nothing.

At least, he thought, with suicide the pain would all end. And... and he would regain control over his life. He was not his father's property. He belonged only to himself. He was going to die eventually. Probably sooner rather than later. He would rather it be at his own hand, under his own terms, than at the hand of the man who sired him. And this... this was a hurt that he had caused to himself - which helped make the pain more bearable. **_He_** was in control here. Not his father. Not his mother. Not Voldemort. And definitely not Lucius bloody Malfoy.

He cut again, deeper this time. His wrist was soon coated in a wash of red blood, steadily dripping from his pale skin to the carpet below. The nearby bandage was now adorned with a steadily increasing stain of rich crimson. His hands were unsteady, refusing to obey his commands as he pressed the glass over into his right hand

His fingers felt numb, lifeless, and he almost dropped the glass as he sought to grip it between them. Within seconds the shard was slick with blood, making his hold even more insecure. Each movement sent pain shearing through him. But soon it would end. Soon it would all end.

He pressed the glass to his wrist... but was unable to place any sort of pressure. Drawing a ragged breath into his lungs he tightened his grip, resting his arm across his unsteady knees, and again touched the sharp edge down. With a single, sudden brisk movement he tore through the practically unmarked skin. More blood began to flow - a rich, vibrant red - and he stared, transfixed, the glass tumbling from his fingers. Gryffindor red, he thought, as the liquid gathered in the palm of his hand before dripping to the floor. Not that he was much of a Gryffindor…

His sight swam, a haze obscuring his vision. Red. Like the blood that pooled on the floor before him. His blood. His life.

Footfalls sounded on the stairs - distant, and yet... not, echoing strangely in his ears. Were they even real? He couldn't tell any more. He didn't care any more. A door swinging open. A voice. Words that were faint and indistinguishable. He blinked up at the blurry, red-tinted view before him from where he slumped against the wall. His brain barely managed to register the sight of a figure leaning over him before it shut down on him completely. Consciousness finally left.

A/N - I'm not going to reply to everyone's reviews today, I'm afraid - quite simply because I have only a limited time on the computer and I think you'd all rather I spend my time typing up Chapter Sixteen than review replies. That's not to say that I didn't enjoy reading every one. Twenty three! That's the most I've received yet! Thank you so much. But there are a couple of people I want to reply to…

Allacaya - At least your computer didn't decide to **_stay_** on strike! As you see, some of the powder did fall into the fire… Um. He's still not away though. I'm so glad someone picked up on the shoes comment. That's probably my favourite bit of the chapter too! As for the rape - I know what else is going to happen in this little series. Having a rape theme in addition to the abuse wouldn't work. I do use rape in other stories I'm writing and I feel it to be an issue that needs to be central to get it's full import.

DarkHiei - Thanks for your comments. The only thing I really have to say is that I'm English, so please don't expect me to spell like an American.

IshTara - It's not that I'm 'drawing it out' so much as that I need certain other things to happen to him before he escapes in order for the next story to work. Don't worry - he will get away. Eventually.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer - not mine.

A/N - thank you so much for all the reviews for Chapter 15 - I think I actually made it to 30! Wow! You guys are great. I'm afraid this chapter is rather shorter than the last few have been - its more the length of the first 10 or so. I had planned tomerge 16 and 17 together as one chapter,but the second half still needs some work doing on it. Hopefully it shouldn't take me too long to finish, butI thought I may as well post this part while I have the chance. I still have no computer, which means that I'm writing like mad in my notepads and typing up, and finally posting,only when I have the opportunity - which isn't very often. Anyways, please be patient. There's only one chapter to go after this! Enjoy... and please leave a review...

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

"Hey! Peter!"

Quickly hugging his mum goodbye, James grabbed his trunk and ran to catch his chubby friend. Peter, who turned on hearing his name, gave a smile as James approached.

"Hi James. Good Christmas?"

"Not bad," he said with a grin, thinking of his uncle's gift - a large box of mixed pranking materials. He couldn't wait to show the others. Sirius would… His grin slipped a little. No, Sirius wouldn't. Hopefully the little bastard would stay well away from him. "You?"

"Brilliant. I got this mini-Quidditch game that you'll love. I'll show you it when we get on the train. Did you go to that big New Year's party? The one at the Ministry?"

"Yeah," James grimaced. "I didn't really have much choice. Stupid old fuddy-duddies, the whole lot of them. They weren't even any fun when drunk. And the music was abysmal. Don't let my Mum hear me saying that, though," he added, glancing back to where the woman still stood, engaged now in an animated conversation with another middle-aged witch. She gave a brief wave as she saw him looking back, which James returned before turning back to his friend with a wry smile and a roll of his eyeballs. "You know how she enjoys socialising. Anyways - how about you? What did you do this New Year?"

"Just the normal. Spent it with Mum and Dad, and the usual hoard of relatives that I barely know. Aunt Phyllis was up with the twins, and you know what they're like…"

James' attention drifted as Peter's words quickly became a mere drone in his ears. He barely noticed as silence descended between them - his eyes were busy scanning the crowds of students milling around the platform. He was looking for Evans, he told himself. No one else. No one else at all…

And there she was! He would know that hair anywhere - such a gorgeous shade! And that body. And the way she moved...

"He's not here yet."

James' gaze barely strayed. "Who's not?"

"Sirius. You're looking for him, right?"

"No, I'm not," he instantly denied, his eyes snapping back to the other boy. The fact that the first hair colour he had been scanning for had been black, whilst the figure had been that of a lanky teenage boy, was conveniently ignored. "I was looking for Evan's, actually," he stated. "Who's right there… Or she was." He frowned at the space that, only a moment earlier, had been occupied by the fiery, red-headed prefect, before turning his scowl on Peter. "You've made me go and lose her now. You owe me one for that, Mate."

But Peter merely looked confused. "So you weren't looking for Sirius?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Come on. Lets go and get a compartment."

"Prongs…?"

"What?"

"Are we ever, like, gonna be friends with Padfoot again?"

James sighed, staring down at his feet. For some odd reason they suddenly seemed immensely fascinating. "I don't know, Wormtail." He frowned slightly as he considered how exactly to put his thoughts into words. "Are you sure you want to know someone," he eventually continued, "so selfish he'd use one of his own friends - would risk one of his own friends - to get back at someone who annoyed him? Remus could have killed Snape if I hadn't been there. Even you know what would have happened to Moony if he had! Do you really want to be friends with someone like that?"

Peter shrugged. "I suppose not. If you say not. It's just… well... we're not really the Marauders without Padfoot! Are we?"

"We don't need him! He's a bastard who needs to be taught a lesson."

"Yeah, but... he must have had some reason..."

"Why must he? It could, of course, just be that he doesn't care and he doesn't think! He needs to be taught a lesson!"

"Yeah, but..."

"No more 'Yeah, but...'s, Pete. Come on. I've had enough of this conversation." James turned away from the other boy and began moving quickly towards the train. "Let's go get that compartment before we have to go to the trouble of emptying one out."

* * *

His knowledge of reality drifted to him in uneven fits and starts. A flash-fire burst of pain, before darkness again swamped him. The sensation of hands, roughly touching his damaged frame, uncaring of any further hurt they caused. No more. He could take no more. Merlin, let it end… But reality's grip upon his mind strengthened.

He could hear his father's voice, carrying to him as if from over a great distance. The words were faint and indistinguishable, yet he couldn't prevent a frisson of fear from running through him. His eye-lids flickered briefly open, only to fall closed again as his father's face swam into focus before him.

A hard hand gripped his chin, holding him in place as a thick potion was poured onto his tongue. His eyes again faltered open as he choked, weakly straining to move his head away - without success. The man's grip merely tightened.

"Drink it, you stupid boy," the steely voice sounded. "You're not dying yet - not until I say you can!"

He had no choice but to comply. As the potion flowed through him, slowly the worst of the pain ebbed away - replaced by a cool wash of fresh energy. But it was not enough to allow consciousness to be retained. Reality drifted again out of reach.

When awareness finally, fully, returned it was with the remembrance of his last conscious actions. He had slit open his wrists. He had tried to kill himself. He remembered seeing the blood… Thick, red blood - rich, Gryffindor red. Surely, then, he should now be dead. But if that were so then surely there should be no more pain…

He slowly cracked open his eyes. Only to close them again as a familiar, dingy, off-white ceiling swam into sight above him.

Maybe the Muggles were right. Maybe there was such a place as Hell. Maybe after you died you did have to pay for the sins of your lifetime…

Or maybe he wasn't dead.

It hadn't worked. He was still alive.

He didn't want to be alive. Life… Life meant pain and fear. Life meant hatred and sorrow. He didn't want that any more. He just… He couldn't take that any more. Now, though, even death was to be denied him. He was still there, still trapped. Nothing had changed.

No… No, he realised - something **_had_** changed. He felt… better… Far better than he had in some time. The pain, although still present, had lessened. A potion… His recollection was hazy - almost dream-like in its consistency - but he did, vaguely, remember. His father had forced him to drink yet another potion. The effects of this latest one, however, seemed to have been rather less harmful than those that had been forced down his throat previously. He had a feeling that that wasn't a good thing. In fact, there was no way that that **_could_** be a good thing.

He shifted slightly, his eyes drawn down to the still tender, raw flesh of his wrist - only to freeze, a strangled gasp escaping his throat as harsh, burning pain seared into his chest. For several long seconds he held himself immobile, unwilling to even breathe, as a snake-like thread of sinuous energy flickered into existence, twining around his body. Slowly it faded away… Barely a moment later, however, it reappeared as he finally drew an unsteady breath.

His father, he realised with a sinking feeling, was taking no chances with him now. He had been bound. Each slight movement caused pain to sear into his skin as the coiling bands of energy swiftly appeared, looping down and around his entire form.

He gingerly relaxed back, forcing himself into stillness, but not even his greatest efforts could make it last. His father may have healed him, but it was quite obvious that he cared for nothing other than keeping him alive. Making him healthy again was not in the man's agenda. He continued to lie on the floor, as he had been before consciousness had fled, slumped against the wall near the doorway. With his blankets lying in a crumpled heap beside his bed, there was nothing he could do to subdue the helpless shivers that wracked his body.

At first the searing bands flared into existence for barely an instant before fading, but, as his involuntary movements continued unabated, they began to remain for longer periods, sending burning pains sheering through him. He closed his eyes, struggling to still his rebellious muscles as he fought back sobs of pain - but it was useless. Time ticked past as he lay, and slowly, steadily the restraining magic grew stronger. The bindings continuing to blaze, unrelenting, progressively increasing in intensity. They began to tighten, tendrils of energy that wound from chest to ankle; a twisting helix of magic that held him in its insistent grip. Like the wards around the door, he thought. They were like the wards around the door, only worse…

With soft, helpless cries of agony now escaping from him, Sirius did the last thing he could think of doing to ease the pain. He changed into the familiar form of the bear-like dog.

Bliss.

For a long moment he merely remained lying as he was, his chest heaving as his brain sought to assimilate the new information. Slowly he lifted his head, gingerly shifting his legs to make sure that he wasn't imagining things. He wasn't. The bindings were gone.

The instant he returned to his human form, however, searing pain informed him of their return. He cursed, biting down on his lip to still his involuntary cries, and in an instant the dog was back. Well, that was… interesting… It seemed that, whilst Sirius was held captive by his father's vicious spell, Padfoot, on the other hand, was free to do as he wished. Not that that helped much. He was still stuck in the bloody room.

Unless…

Think! He had to think… Why was his brain not working properly? He had to think!

His father's bindings didn't work on Padfoot, which meant they had been tuned to **_him_** - or, to his human form, at least. As the wards around the door had been… It was a shot in the dark. He would be taking quite a risk. If he were wrong, then he would be trapped, yet again, in the nightmarish working that sealed his doorway, and this time with no house-elf present to pull him free. If he were right, though - he could be free! As Padfoot he could get out of his room… As Padfoot he could escape this hellish house. He could be free!

It was worth a try. Gathering together the fragmented remnants of his strength, he hauled himself to his feet, unable to prevent the strangled yelp that escaped him as he his broken limb briefly took his weight. He should, he realised, have tried changing into Padfoot before now - it was much easier to keep his balance with four legs instead of two, even if one of them wasn't usable. He was also far warmer. Padfoot's thick fur-coat provided him with a much needed extra layer of insulation. The only negative side of being in his animal form was the intensification of his sense of smell. He had, over the past week, become acclimatised to the stale scents of blood, sweat and sickness that filled his room; as Padfoot they struck him in a sudden, nauseating wash.

He had barely taken his first, hesitant step towards his doorway when his ears pricked up, Padfoot's acute hearing catching the sound of approaching footsteps long before he would have done in human form. He froze. Those were his father's footsteps - he would recognise them anywhere. And they were heading his way.

Shit. Oh shit! What should he do? He couldn't stay as Padfoot. Could he? If his father discovered his animagus form… No. No - that couldn't happen. Both the wards and the bindings could be altered to tie 'Padfoot' as they did 'Sirius'. He would lose his only chance to escape.

But… but what if this moment itself was his last chance to escape? What if the man had decided to… to 'get rid of him' as his mother had said? Could Padfoot get past him? Could he take the man down? For a brief moment the image of himself, as Padfoot, with his teeth at his father's throat, flashed through his mind. It was tempting. So tempting. But… normally… normally he, Padfoot, would be stronger; normally he would have no trouble in attacking the older man. He doubted that was still the case. In fact, he was pretty certain it wasn't. As much extra strength as he had been granted by his father's healing potions, it wasn't even a fraction of what he had lost from the man's earlier treatment of him. He was weak now, whilst his father was strong. He didn't stand a chance against him.

The footsteps were close now, close enough that he would be able to hear them in human form. He automatically began to back away, his teeth bared as a low growl emanated from his throat. What was he going to do? No - he knew what he had to do. He had no choice. He had to change back. He couldn't let Padfoot be discovered.

With almost frantic movements he scrabbled back to his previous space, to the area where the scent of blood lay strongest. Only just in time. The footsteps halted. With barely a second to spare, he changed. The door swung open. Despite his strongest efforts he was unable to hold back a strangled cry of pain as the magical bonds instantly resettled themselves, sending agony searing through him.

The sound of his father's chuckle filled his ears as the older man strode calmly into the room. With a defeated moan Sirius let his eyes fall shut, blocking his view of the man who towered over him.

He would get through this.

* * *

At first glance Remus thought it was Sirius standing before James, a thought that sent a quick spurt of anxiety shooting through him. He wasn't sure he wanted to face Sirius again just yet. But no, he realised, pausing on the staircase above the Entrance Hall - the other boy was too short, matching James' size rather than towering several inches over him, and his scarf was green and silver, the colours of Slytherin. The hair, however, was the same - though maybe a little shorter - as was the build, and even the haughty posture... Regulus. It had to be Regulus! But what did the younger Black want with James?

The crowds were quickly thinning as Remus descended to ground level, as returning students of all houses headed towards the Great Hall and the meal awaiting them there. Soon only James and Regulus, and a handful of other stragglers, continued to linger. The two boys were unaware of Remus' approach. He slowed, finally stilling completely as their words carried clearly to his ears.

"Look, Sirius is in trouble..."

Did Regulus actually sound anxious? This had to be bad. He was about to join his friend and the Slytherin when James' swift rejoinder halted him in his tracks.

"Do I really look like I care?"

Regulus paused for a moment and when he spoke again his voice held pure contempt. "You bastard," he said. "I thought you were his friend."

"You thought wrong. My friends aren't treacherous snakes." James turned to leave, only to be halted by Regulus' hand falling hard on his shoulder. "Piss off, Black. I've had enough of your fucking family."

Remus could clearly see the narrowing of Regulus' eyes - eyes that were practically identical to Sirius' - even across the distance separating them. He started moving again, his steps quickening as, with a contemptuous sneer, Regulus pushed James aside and stalked back towards the entrance. Remus cast an annoyed glance at James and quickly changed his course to intercept his absent friend's brother.

"Regulus. Regulus, wait up!" he called.

Regulus stopped, but failed to turn to face him. "What do you want, Gryffindor?"

"Sirius... Where is he? What's happened? You told James that he was in trouble..."

Slowly the younger boy turned. "Why should I tell you anything? Your friend over there just made it perfectly clear that he doesn't care fuck."

"James is an idiot. I care. Tell me!"

"Idiocy," Regulus sneered. "That does seem to be a Gryffindor trait." The Slytherin fell silent; his eyes fixed calculatingly on Remus. Finally, as the werewolf was beginning to grow increasingly impatient, the younger boy added, "Sirius was an idiot as well. He didn't know when to leave things well alone." Again he paused. When he next spoke his near smug manner almost managed to persuade Remus that he must have imagined the earlier anxiety. "He had an encounter with our father. He's in trouble. In fact... I think my idiot brother may be in need of some help. Now, if you'll excuse me." And with that Regulus turned and strode off.

"Hey, Moony?" James' voice sounded, almost hesitantly, from behind him.

He slowly turned to look at the other boy, and any irritation he may have felt quickly dissolved as he saw his vaguely worried, contrite expression. "Hi Prongs," he sighed. "Did you have a good Christmas? Where's Peter?"

"Yeah, it was great. Um - Pete's around somewhere. I think he saw that Hufflepuff girl, Julia or whatever-her-name-is. How was your Christmas?"

"Okay. A bit lonely." He paused before adding, "That was the first Christmas I've spent on my own since our first year."

"You know I would have stayed if I could have..."

"I know."

They had all expected Sirius to be spending Christmas in Gryffindor tower as he usually did. James' family's plans had been made well before Sirius had… before everything had changed.

"Anyhow, it's good to have you back, James. I was getting rather lonesome on my own."

"It's good to be back," James replied, slinging a companionable arm over his shoulder. "Come on - I'm starved. Let's go eat!"

Although Remus accompanied his friend into the Great Hall and to the Gryffindor table, not even the other boy's exuberant personality could keep him distracted. His eyes strayed continually around the room. Where was Sirius? Was he here and just staying away from them? It wouldn't be the first time since they had fallen out that he had done so - they had, after all, made it quite clear that they didn't want to talk to him. But he was nowhere to be seen.

His thoughts wandered back to their encounter with Regulus Black. He had a very bad feeling about this. What had happened to Sirius? What could have been so bad that Regulus - **_Regulus_** - was worried about him?

If Sirius hadn't turned up by tomorrow morning he was going to go and see the Headmaster.

* * *

A/N - I'm afraid that I again don't have time for review responses. I wassupposed to be going home about 15 minutes ago and I think myDad isstarting to get a bit irritated with my being here. Anyway, every single one of them was read and appreciated. Thank you all so much. I still can't believe I received 30! Chapter 17 should (no promises) be up in a week or two. Although, unfortunately, today is my only full day off work this week,and I won't be back at my parents house for at least two weeks, I should be able to get to the library for the odd morning or two...

Please do leave a review. Its so good to open my inbox and find them all waiting there.

Bye-de-byes,

Misthea


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer - Still not mine.

A/N - Here it is, Chapter 17. A little later than I'd planned, but I'm afraid that really couldn't be helped. It kind of grew. Sorry. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it. It is the end of 'Hidden', though not the end of the story. The second part of my little series, which is titled 'Lost', should be coming along soon.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

For several long moments Sirius continued to lie as still as he could, his father's laughter echoing in his ears, his eyes closed. Maybe, he thought hopefully, if the man thought he was unconscious he would just leave again. Maybe. His father's first words, however, quickly disabused him of that notion.

"I know you're awake, Boy," he announced, "so you can open your eyes. I said 'open your eyes'!" Biting back a cry as a brisk kick emphasised the order, Sirius reluctantly obeyed. "That's better," the man continued, his tone almost pleasant as he hunched down beside him "Do you know **_how_** I know you're awake?" A long fingered hand reached out and brushed almost tenderly over the band that crossed Sirius' chest. "These lovely little things." Sirius couldn't prevent his flinch, nor could he prevent the gasp that escaped him as the twining energy pulsed and tightened in response. "They're only active whilst you're awake."

Silence settled between them. Sirius stared up at his father, barely blinking as he took in the man's peculiar expression. Had it been anyone else he would have termed it pleasant, affable even. That couldn't be a good sign…

"Are you comfortable?" the man suddenly said. Sirius didn't reply. What was he supposed to say? Oh yes, very much so, thank you? "What do **_you_** think of the new… arrangements?" His father moved closer - too close - a smirk twisting his lips as he gazed down at him. Sirius merely stared back, wide-eyed. "They're just a precaution, really. And you brought it on yourself. Had you not tried to escape…"

The man's smile, however, and the pleased expression that filled his eyes, told Sirius that his attempted escape was merely an excuse. Not that one was really needed…

"No," the older man added, an avid expression on his face, "you're not going to be escaping again, are you?" Again he reached out and lightly brushed the twining energy, this time causing a choked cry to escape Sirius' throat in response. "No. I didn't think so." With a chuckle his father rose gracefully back to his feet.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Sirius croaked, gathering together the tattered shreds of his courage as the man moved away. "Why? Why not just end it?" Letting his eyes fall closed he added, in a voice barely more than a whisper, "Please just end it. "

He cracked his eyes back open as the sound of footsteps halted. His father turned to look back at him, an expression of pure disgust on his face. "You really are pathetic, Boy. 'Please just end it'," he mocked. "The mind boggles as to how **_you_** could be a child of mine. A Gryffindor brat! And you're not even a particularly impressive one of **_them_**, are you? Aren't Gryffindor's supposed to be brave?"

Releasing his breath in a sigh of defeat, Sirius lowered his eyes, letting his gaze drop to the floor. His father was right. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look. He was pathetic. Worthless. He had never made a decent Black and he would never make a decent Gryffindor.

"As to **_why_**," the man continued. "It's quite simple really. Because I can. Because you are mine. Mine to do with as I wish. Your life is **_mine_** and it will end only when I decide it must." With that said he turned and sauntered across the room, his fingers trailing idly over surfaces as he went.

Sirius lay, unmoving, as his father meandered around his room, his cheek pressed against the coarse fibres of the carpet. His eyes were fixed upon the large, dark red stain only a little way from him. His blood - that was his blood, he realised. Shifting his eyes to his unbroken arm, resting against his stomach, he gingerly turned his wrist, gritting his teeth against the immediate flare of the bindings. The jagged, raw line of the single cut he had made there was almost lost amidst the thick coating of blood, but he could still trace its path. It's deepest point lay beneath the base of his thumb. It finally trailed off almost halfway up his forearm.

He really should be dead. Why could he not be dead? Surely it would have taken only a little while longer… Why had his father arrived when he did? A half hour later and he doubted any fancy potions would have been able to bring him back.

No - he couldn't think like that. All he had to do was get though this, and then he could get out. Soon he would be free. He wouldn't think about what the future might hold for him. He wouldn't think about his family… or his friends. Or the mess that he was making of his life. Soon he would be free. He had to fix his mind upon that.

"It's such a beautiful day, is it not?" his father announced brightly, halting beside the window. "A little chill, admittedly - do you not find it a little chill?" He paused, casting an enquiring glance Sirius' way - as if he actually expected an answer. "I've always liked the snow," the man continued in a musing tone, resuming his lazy amble. "It's so crisp and pure - at least until those hideous Muggle contraptions start churning it into a grey, slushy mess." He smirked before adding, "But what can we expect, really? After all, everything touched by Muggles becomes impure. All we can do is wait for a cleansing rain to wash it all away."

Sirius made no reply, his eyes remaining fixed upon his blood covered arm. He would not allow himself to be provoked by the man's words. He knew only too well what his view of Muggles entailed - he had been forced to listen to it far too many times in the past. He would not rise to the bait. He didn't have the energy. Nor did he wish to make this little session any worse than it had to be. Soon he would get out. Soon he would be gone and he wouldn't have to listen to the man's words ever again. All he had to do was get through this.

"You know, I had planned to do this the easy way," his father suddenly informed him, his tone almost conversational. Sirius slowly, wearily, lifted his eyes. The older man had paused now beside his bed, the bedspread in his hand. "A nice, simple potion," the man continued, "that would wipe all memory of the events of the past two and a half weeks from your immature, dull-witted little head. Unfortunately," and the grey eyes were as sharp as cold steel as they fixed once again upon his, "it will take a further day to replace the one you spilt."

Even though he couldn't see it from where he lay, Sirius knew what his father was looking at. It was the blue stain, the one from that potion - the one his father tried to give him the day after he'd nearly escaped. He had wondered, vaguely curious, what that potion had been for. At least now he knew… He rather wished he still didn't.

"But enough of this idle chit-chat. I do have work to get back to, after all." All traces of affability now gone, the man strode back across the room, withdrawing his wand as he approached. "You see, your mother is right about one thing - you do know too much."

Sirius forced himself to breathe, fighting back against the rising tide of absolute terror as his mind slipped from one possible torment to the next. He would get through this. The man wasn't going to kill him - not after he'd only just saved his life. Whatever else was thrown at him he could endure. All he had to do was get through this and then he could leave. His eyes fell closed, blocking the sight of his father's pale, sneering face and the wand that was directed straight at his forehead.

"That, however, can be easily changed. _Obliviate_!"

His let out a shocked cry as the charm struck him, his automatic attempt to move arrested by the instantaneous flare of searing pain. Oh no! Oh, Merlin - no! A memory charm! He hadn't even considered that possibility... He had to remember! He couldn't forget. If he forgot… If he forgot what had happened over these past two weeks - what point was there to anything?

But, although he may have been bound and unprotected, he wasn't completely helpless. He fought back in the only way left to him. The shields that he flung up were ones perfected throughout his childhood. He thrust back against the probing of the charm as he had done so many times against his mother's mental attacks. He had defended his mind against her. He had even defended his mind against Voldemort! He could do so again against his father!

He barely heard the man's wordless snarl of annoyance, but he felt the charm strengthen its attack. Still he fought back. He **_could_** do it! His father's charms ability was notoriously weak. He may have been a genius when it came to potions - but he was quite the opposite with charms.

Despite his greatest efforts, however, he could still feel the charm worming its way through his mind, sifting through his memories. No! He continued to fight back against the invasion. He would not have his mind tampered with in this way!

His father stood over him, his wand pointed still at his head. The sneer was gone now from his face as he gazed down at his son, an expression of pure hatred having taken his place. Although he didn't hear the word spoken, the next time the charm struck him it came accompanied by a now familiar wave of pure agony. _Crucio_.

Ragged cries were torn from his throat. The Unforgivable curse echoed down through his abused body, amplifying each and every hurt previously sustained. In addition, their effects heightened as they became a part of the torturous whole, the bindings continued to inexorably tighten as he twitched and jerked in agony. And the charm continued to burrow through his mind. He tried to fight back through the pain. He was stronger than his father… He knew he was! But he could feel himself slipping.

No! He couldn't forget. He had to remember. He had to! He would get through this and get out and get his revenge. If he remembered… He had to remember. The potions… Voldemort… he could ruin the man so easily… He had to remember… Couldn't forget…

He would get through this…

He would…

* * *

His head hurt - that was the first thought to ghost through his brain as the world slowly resettled itself around him. Pain throbbed unceasingly, interrupting his thought processes and, the very instant he moved, setting an avalanche of agonising sensation cascading over his entire body. No… No, he thought - the pain in his body was from the movement… Wasn't it? It hurt… It hurt so much… Change. He had to change! No. Wait! Was it safe. He had to be alone! Was he alone? He slowly cracked open his eyes. The darkened, shadow-filled room before him was empty. 

Without lingering on the how, what or why - concepts which all dissolved barely formed within his mind - he shifted into his other form. Emotions simplified as his thoughts coalesced into the more primitive thought patterns of the dog, causing the throbbing in his head to ease. Everything was instantaneously reduced to their base forms.

Get out! He had to get out!

He rose unsteadily to his feet, carefully holding his broken limb off the ground. The room span around him and, for a moment, he thought that he was simply going to collapse back into a heap. Finally it stilled and he took his first step forward. Followed by his next.

Only to be forced to a halt as he reached the closed door. For several long moments he merely stared at the dark wood. He had to go through there, he finally thought dimly. He needed it open. He slowly lifted his head and, rearing back on his hind legs, placed a paw upon the door handle and pushed downwards. The door swung open, revealing the darkened stairwell beyond as he dropped back.

He wasn't sure he wanted to go through that doorway. It scared him. He took a hesitant step back. That doorway caused pain… He shook his head as the dull ache that encased his brain amplified. He **_had_** to go through! He had no choice. He had to get out!

The panicky rush that carried him through the doorway also carried him nearly halfway down the steep staircase. He quickly forced himself to slow as he stumbled and almost lost his footing. Falling wouldn't be good. He wasn't sure he'd ever manage to get up again. With careful, limping steps he descended to the first landing, his ears constantly listening for the sound of approaching footsteps. The doors he passed remained closed. He moved on to the next staircase.

Low, unnerving voices sounded from all around him; a hum of chatter that seemed to have no obvious source, words indistinguishable even to the enhanced hearing of his animal form, but growing steadily louder as he descended further. A low growl, hurriedly silenced, escaped him as he stared around in fearful agitation. The murmur grew softer as he moved over the landing, only to renew with added force as he began down the next flight of stairs.

A sudden booming laugh, followed by a spate of loud, animated conversation, sounded directly over his head. He quickly sank back into the thick shadows, untouched by the dim glow of gas-lamps, his teeth bared in a silent snarl as he stared upwards. Portraits, his brain finally supplied. It was just the portraits… Portraits of… of… They would raise the alarm! He couldn't let them see him!

Keeping carefully to the shadows, moving as silently as possible, he slinked down to the next landing. They hadn't noticed him yet. They couldn't have noticed him yet. Surely he would have known if they had! He couldn't let them see him… He only had a little way further to go. Not far. Soon he would be out. Soon. With yet another flight of stairs finished he began down the next.

Brisk, staccato footsteps sounded from within a room. He froze, his body trembling, forepaw held carefully off the ground, his ears pricked. A person! People! People were worse than portraits. People hurt him… The footsteps paused for a brief moment before resuming - but no one emerged. He took a cautious step forwards. Caught in a sudden burst of overwhelming terror he scrambled on, running as quickly as his battered form, his screaming legs, would allow. He was soon over the landing and onto the next set of stairs. The footsteps continued, unchecked.

Finally! There, before him was the door. He was there! He had done it! Only, he realised, it wasn't that easy. The door was locked. Oh shit… No… He couldn't open them as a dog. It just wasn't possible. He needed hands, fingers, to move the bolts and turn the key, and he couldn't become human again because… because…

Could he change back yet? Would it be safe to do so? He didn't know… Why wouldn't it be safe…? His head hurt. Why did his head hurt whenever he tried to think of these things? Bonds, bindings, twining cords of energy burning into his skin - that was why… wasn't it? He didn't know any more. All he knew was that he needed to be human to open that doorway down there. Which meant that he really didn't have any choice in the matter.

He started down the final staircase.

He was over halfway down when he slipped, his paws suddenly sliding out from beneath him. His eyes widened in surprise and a muffled whuff escaped him as he tumbled haphazardly, unable to halt his descent in time to prevent himself from crashing into the ugly great umbrella stand set near the base of the stairs.

Oh shit!

He scrambled hurriedly back to his feet as the loud crash echoed throughout the hallway - ignoring the pain the fall set screaming through his battered body - and stumbled towards the door.

Now! Quick - he had to change! In an instant his human form was back and he surged upwards to stand tall before the locked doorway, his stiff fingers scrabbling at the latches. Quick! Quick! There. Finally he pushed open the door. Just in time, as he felt the familiar burning sensation begin to wrap around him.

Dog… he needed to be a dog again. In an instant he morphed and surged forwards, out of the building. Cold air washed over him as he fought to keep his footing upon the icy, snow-covered ground.

"Kreacher!" The shriek echoed out from within the house and, after a moment of terrified immobility, he began to run, terror giving him a burst of much needed energy as adrenaline briefly masked the pain.

He was free! He had done it! He had to get away… He had to get as far away as he could. He had to keep going. He couldn't stop. Not yet. He had to keep on running. Fear drove him onwards, skidding and scrabbling over icy ground. He had to keep going!

It was snowing. The air was filled with a whirl of icy flakes. The ground was covered in a steadily deepening layer of fresh, crisp snow. The haloes of the streetlamps cast a diffused glow upon the wintry scene - but the beauty was lost to him. All he knew was that he was cold, and in pain… He hurt. He hurt so badly. There was barely an inch of him that didn't scream in agony. And he was scared. Terrified. He had to get away. He had to run. He had to keep moving!

And so he ran… stumbled… onwards.

It wasn't long before his pace slowed even further. His heart was pounding, his head spinning, his sight swimming. He dragged in several deep, ragged breaths, barely managing to keep going, keep placing one foot… paw… before the other. Nausea swirled through his stomach, clawing fingers snaring, sending harsh flares of pain careening through him.

He was cold and wet. So cold… His fur was soaked through, unable to keep out the chill any longer, leaving him feeling icy to the core. His limbs were numb - which, he was forced to admit, was probably not a bad thing - and each step he took was unsteady as his legs threatened to give way beneath him. Occasionally his forepaw was forced to touch upon the ground as dizziness swept over him, causing agonising pain to shoot through the broken limb. But he couldn't stop. Not yet. He had to keep going. Had to keep moving. He couldn't stop. That one thought consumed his mind.

He couldn't stop.

The world ahead of him was a blur of white and grey, falling snow, filling the air in a swirling mass, the drab buildings beyond obscured. His paws sank deep. Each step forwards took more effort than the previous as he ploughed his way onwards.

He had to keep moving.

Voices sounded - laughter, shouting - echoing down the street. Dark figures loomed out of the snow before him. He froze, his heartbeat racing. People! People meant pain… People meant…

"Hey, look! There's a dog! I bet a quid you can't hit it!"

He began to retreat, backing unsteadily through the drifts. The sudden ball of hard-packed snow that collided with his side caused him to lose his balance, his legs finally giving way beneath him.

"There - I got him! You owe me a quid, mate."

"Are you two insane? Dogs tend to have rather nasty teeth, you know?"

"Stop being such a wuss."

"I'm not being a wuss. I'm being sensible…"

"Is Mikey-Wikey all scared of the ickle doggy?"

"'Ickle'? That thing's not 'ickle'! And don't call me that."

"Go on. Throw one. I dare you!"

"No. Come on, guys - I'm cold and I'm tired. I want to get home before I freeze my bloody balls off… You bastard! You bloody bastard. God, that's cold! I'm so gonna get you for that! It went right down my bloody neck!"

After a several more minutes of frantic movement and manic laughter, the voices finally faded away. He was alone again - but he continued to lie as he was. It wasn't really all **_that_** cold. It was quite warm, actually. And comfortable. So very comfortable. His eyes closed as a hazy blanket settled over his thoughts.

No! It wasn't safe. He couldn't stop yet…

But he was so comfy here…

No… No. Wasn't safe. Couldn't stop. Keep moving. Had to keep moving…

He grimly dragged himself back to his feet. Soon… Soon he'd be able to rest. But not yet. He had to keep going.

How long he trekked for he didn't know. Time drifted as his mind blurred. He merely kept his head down and ploughed doggedly on. It was the incongruous scents of growing things, juxtaposed strangely amongst the harsh city smells, that finally drew him. He was trudging alongside a low, crumbling wall, topped with a cap of pure, white snow. It was on the far side of that wall that he had to be. He was sure of it…

With a mad, desperate scrabble he managed to drag himself up and over, the drifting snow on the far side cushioning his ungainly descent. He continued to lie where he fell, gazing blearily at the monochrome world before him. Where previously there had only been the repetitive sight of drab houses and grey, concrete streets buried beneath the steadily deepening snow, now he could see plants and bushes, trees, a tangle of untamed growth. The distant sound of running water sent a shot of recognition through him. He knew this place… didn't he? He was sure he knew it… But the knowledge, had it ever been truly present, slipped away the instant he tried to firmly grasp it.

Shaking his aching head he dragged himself a few last steps forwards. Trees, plants, natural things - these meant safety... Didn't they? Nature was associated with happy times, although the details evaporated the moment he tried to isolate them. Happy times, not with pain. Yes, here he could rest. Here he would be safe. Finding a patch of ground protected by a tangle of snow covered branches only a little way above his head, he finally allowed his legs to give way beneath him. Now he could rest. He closed his eyes. Surrendering gratefully to the waiting darkness, he sank into oblivion.

* * *

Consciousness was slow to return. The first thing that he noticed was the pain, flaring throughout his entire body. The next thing was that he was cold - an icy chill that had seeped in and settled so deep he felt frozen to his core. He was so cold. Before... before he had been warm. He wanted to return to that pleasant warm darkness. A helpless whimper escaped him, and, suddenly refusing the offered comfort, he began to fight back against the tempting darkness playing on the edge of his mind. But it was useless; nothingness again swallowed him.

* * *

He could feel hands upon him, gently touching, smoothing his fur. Pulling him slowly back from the darkness. But he could not move, could not even gather the strength to whimper in pain as his body howled its agony. Voices sounded in his ears, and he tensed, but they were not the harsh tones that he expected to hear. These words were as gentle as the hands, soothing away his fears.

"The poor creature," he heard someone say. "How could anyone treat an animal in such a way? Look at these cuts!"

Animal? He wasn't an animal! He was a boy! Wasn't he...? He attempted to raise his head to place this query, but all he seemed able to do was twitch slightly.

"I think it's waking up! Quick, Paul, run and call the vet."

The hands moved down to his front paw. Despite the tenderness of the contact the touch caused pain to shoot through him, dissipating the last tendrils of unconsciousness. A sudden rush of pain-fuelled terror gave him the strength to surge unsteadily to his feet. His eyes were barely focussed on the figures crouching beside him, his ears barely registering their shocked cries as he snarled, stumbling backwards through the tangled growth. He had to get away. Get away now! A moment later he turned tail and ran, ignoring the agony that his actions sent flaring throughout his form.

Clutching branches caught in his fur; catching; tearing; hindering his stumbled path. His breath came in ragged gasps, his tongue lolling from his mouth. At each laboured, limping step his legs threatened to collapse beneath him. His sight swam. But fear still nipped at his heels. He could not stop yet!

At first his fogged brain failed to recognise the structure that suddenly loomed before him, blocking his way. Shit. Shit. Shit. A fence. Voices drawing steadily closer caused him to scrabble hastily forwards several steps along its course. It was then that he noticed the gate. Thank Merlin! Stretching up he sought to nudge open the latch. Hands. Hands! He had to have hands to deal with this. Bare seconds later numb fingers were scrabbling at the cold metal. But it was too late.

"What's that over there? It went over that way, I'm sure it did!"

He span.

For a brief moment his eyes caught upon the sight of shocked faces as he stared at them, wild-eyed. Then his body rebelled and he crumpled back into the snow. Familiar darkness was waiting to claim him yet again.

* * *

"Arcturus!" 

He didn't even bother glancing up from his cauldron as his wife slammed through the door into his workroom. His hand continued to move at a steady pace, stirring the thick, shimmering potion.

"What do you want, Spica?" he said. "This had better be important. I'm busy, in case you haven't noticed."

"He's gone! I told you you ought to have gotten rid of him! I knew something like this would happen…"

"What?" His hand stilled. His eyes flashed up. She couldn't mean… It took a conscious effort to start his hand moving again. "What do you mean 'he's gone'? What are you talking about, Woman?"

"I'm talking about that brat, of course. The blood-traitor! Who else? He's gone! I told you this would happen, but would you listen to me? We'll be ruined, and all because you were incapable of killing one boy!"

"Silence!" he snapped. This couldn't be real… There was no way he could have gotten out, not with the state he was in. With a frown at the potion, whose colour was slowly deepening into an unacceptable shade of lilac, he withdrew his wand and flicked a quick charm. The silver spoon began to move of its own volition. Ignoring his wife's scowling presence he strode quickly out of his chambers.

A few minutes later he stood in the doorway of the attic room, a doorway around which his sealing ward still clung. He stared within with disbelieving eyes. The inside of the room was empty.

"Impossible," he murmured to himself. "There's no way he could have escaped…"

"Well obviously there was a way!" He frowned as he glanced back over his shoulder. Spica stood behind him. He hadn't even realised she had followed. "If there hadn't been he would still be in there, wouldn't he?"

"Obviously!" he snapped back. "Have **_you_** any idea how he did it? He must have had some help - there's no way he could have escaped on his own. The wards are still in place! And he was bound!"

"Not well enough, I'd say. And who, exactly, do you think helped him, hmm? No one has entered the house. We would have know if they had. There are only we two and the house-elves, and don't even think about accusing me! The only house-elf who would have ever dared disobeying a direct order was that… Tiggy, or whatever its name was, and it's dead."

Barely suppressing a snarl at the woman's words he strode into the room, his gaze sweeping every corner. There was always the possibility that he was just hiding himself somewhere… But there was nowhere **_to_** hide. The boy was well and truly gone.

"How did you find out he was gone?" He turned back to his wife. "I told you to stay away from here."

"Don't worry - I wasn't disobeying your precious orders," she snapped in reply. "I was in the drawing room when I heard a noise. I thought it was Kreacher. It wasn't. The umbrella stand had been knocked over and the front door was open."

"What? Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"What difference would it have made? I looked out there and there was no sign of the brat. I even cast a summoning charm - with no luck. If he's out there he's already well out of range. By the time I got up to your work room he would be even further away. And," she added, "in case you haven't noticed, "it's a bloody blizzard out there tonight!"

"He can't have gone far. Not with the state he was in."

"Do you really expect him to still be around here?" Spica snapped. "If he's not back at Hogwarts yet then he probably will be very soon. All he had to do was summon that Knight Bus thing!"

She was right. As much as Arcturus hated to admit it, she was right. Unable to restrain his anger any longer he turned with a vicious snarl, his fist slamming into the wooden panel of the door - the door that **_should_** have held the boy enclosed.

With a final glance around the filthy room he turned and strode out past his wife. "Get Kreacher up here," he ordered. "I want this entire room stripped. I don't want to find a single trace of him left. If anyone asks -we haven't seen him since before Christmas. He ran away and we haven't seen him since."

"And what are you going to do?"

"What am I going to do?" he repeated, turning a cold glare on his wild-eyed wife. "What do you think I'm going to do? I have a potion to finish brewing, of course."

"A potion! You and your bloody potions," Spica shrieked. "That boy is going to ruin us and all you can think about is brewing yet more bloody illegal potions!"

"If you don't want us to be ruined you'll let me get on with my work in peace! For your information the boy has been obliviated. He will have no idea what has happened to him. He'll have no memory of my work. By the time he or that bumbling fool Dumbledore manage to break through the charm I'll have brewed a memory altering potion to take its place. We have nothing to worry about."

"Really? How exactly do you intend to get him to drink it?"

"I'm sure I'll find a way. Everything will be perfectly under control."

Including, he thought to himself as he turned and descended the stairs, leaving his wife still fuming in the attic room, that boy. The brat wasn't escaping him yet. The boy was his. He would find some way of getting him back and he would teach him the consequences of defiance. As stupid as the boy was, it would probably take a while - but he'd learn eventually. It was one lesson, Arcturus Black decided, that he would be only too happy to teach.

For now, though, he had a potion to brew.

* * *

A/N - There we go. The end of 'Hidden'. I can't believe I've actually finished the thing! I really hope you all enjoyed it. 

A big, big thank you to all of my reviewers who've been really patient with my steadily lengthening posting times. I'm afraid that, again, I'm not going to do any individual replies - quite simply because I know that if I started I'd end up going back over the last three or four chapters worth of reviews and that would take me forever. Unfortunately I have other things I need to do while I have the computer. Please do leave me a review of this chapter, though. I would also be incredibly grateful to anyone who could take the time to let me know what their favourite, and least favourite, bits of the whole story were. I would really like to know what people liked and disliked as a whole.

One thing I will do, though, before I go, is leave you all with a little trailer type thing for 'Lost'. Here we go...

* * *

Sirius Black is missing.

As the Spring term begins at Hogwarts and his estranged friend fails to return, Remus Lupin grows increasingly worried. Just what has happened to the other boy? His parents say he 'ran away', but that doesn't tie in with what Regulus told him... does it? Why won't Regulus tell him anything more?

He is also growing increasingly annoyed by the apparent lack of concern shown by James Potter.

At Number 12 Grimmauld Place Arcturus Black is called away from his cauldrons due to a visit by two Hogwarts professors. He is both surprised and elated to discover that their queries are not about the condition in which his son arrived at school, but about the fact that he never did arrive. The boy was still out there somewhere. Which meant that getting the brat back would be even easier than he had expected. All he had to do was find him first... And so Arcturus Black begins the hunt for his absent son.

In a Muggle hospital a teenaged boy awakens. He is battered, scared and alone. And he has absolutely no idea why...

* * *

I will also say now that this is the point where I'm expecting quite a few people to say that it's AU. If you want to class it as AU - go ahead. I don't mind. I know that Sirius told Harry that he 'went to James's'. The way I look at it, though, is that you have a good dose of character bias in that section of OOTP. Sirius is telling Harry what happened - he doesn't particularly want to go into the nitty-gritty details with his Godson. The memories he was forced to relive by the dementors were not only ones about the deaths of James and Lily - he has a lot of other bad episodesin his life! And being backin that house can't be helping. He does go to James' eventually. As he says to Harry, he spends holidays there, etc. He just doesn't go there quite as immediately as his words suggest. If I had my copy of OOTP I'd write a little drabble for you all, set around that scene, but I don't. I'm at my parent's house andthe book is at mine. 

Anyways, I've babbled enough and you've probably all stopped reading long before now, so I think I'll shut up now.

Bye-de-byes,

Misthea


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